


(when we leave this room, it's gone)

by 17826



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Backstory, Bullshitting the force, Canon Compliant, Family Dynamics, Growing Up Together, Guardians of the Whills, M/M, Minor Violence, Pre-Canon, Trans!Baze, because i have no extended lore knowledge, but then again neither did george lucas for the original trilogy so, i havent read the greg rucka book so it probably contradicts that, in the temple, just sparring basically but still, not that relevant to the plot but it's important to me, with the film anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-01-21 02:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12447915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/17826/pseuds/17826
Summary: Spending a life together is a lot of time; Chirrut and Baze have had two.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 33 "GOD" by Bon Iver , which is perhaps the Most Baze Song Ever .
> 
> Warning for minor discussions of violence intermittently but throughout; this is never more than our boys sparring together , but just in case . Also swearing , but not loads .

Baze fell to all fours and spat out a gobbet of blood, ears ringing from the blow, but when he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, it came away clean. He spat again in a futile attempt to get rid of the sand on his tongue, and glared up at his opponent.  
  
“Not so unbeatable after all,” the new trainee grinned as he swung his staff in an elaborate spin pattern and let it fall across his shoulders, head cocked to one side confidently. “They told me you were the- augh!”  
  
Baze used the momentum from sweeping out the other boys leg to jump to his feet in a low crouch, backing away to watch his opponent sprawl on the ground. The damned kid was still grinning, but his staff was no longer within his reach, and Baze quickly maneuvered to shove it away even further with his own as the boy rolled fluidly back to his fighting stance. His dark eyes glittered at Baze from across the dusty courtyard.  
  
“Have at it then,” he smirked.  
  
Faster than Baze had thought he could move, he was leaping forwards, and Baze could have easily sidestepped it if he wasn’t trying to keep the boy from his staff but instead he had to sink his weight, grabbing at the boy’s shoulders and scooping his hips to swing him around. Instead of falling over Baze’s staff, the boy clung to his side for a split second before pulling himself up and out of Baze’s reach. He felt arms stretching round him, trying to find a choke hold, so he fell to one knee, flicking his shoulders sideways, and sure enough the boy was displaced, landing on his back with a huff of air. Baze threw himself forward, but instead of landing on the boys chest, he found himself on the ground and immediately rolled, not a second too soon as a staff smacked down where his neck had just been. Keeping a low stance, he circled the trainee again for a second, plans starting to form in his mind now he knew a potential weakness. Experimentally, the boy jabbed at him with his staff once, twice, and on the third time, Baze lurched forward and grabbed it, discarding his own. With a strong tug, the other boy yelped, flying right towards him as his light-footedness lost out to Baze’s grounded weight, and Baze tried once more to flick his legs out from underneath him but he’d learnt his lesson. No matter, Baze thought with grim satisfaction as the boy played right into his hands, grabbing either end of his staff around Baze’s back as soon as it was obvious he could not squirm his way out. With a sharp twist of his hips, the boys hold was broken and Baze was in the perfect position to flick his leg up, sending the boy flying through the air to land with a thud on the sandy floor; before he could roll up, Baze had the staff at his throat. Death blow.  
  
“Well played,” the trainee said, still smiling to Baze’s annoyance. “Killed me with my own staff. Very poetic. Malbus, right? I was told you’re the only other trainee.”  
  
Baze felt a muscle tense in his jaw before he jerked a nod, letting the staff fall away and turning to grab his canteen of water from the steps.  
  
“You don’t talk much. I’m Ϊmwe, could you chuck me my drink?”  
  
Baze raised his eyebrows, looking back at where Ϊmwe was still sitting in the dust, one hand shading his eyes to see Baze clearer.  
  
“I am actually older than you.” He said helpfully.  
  
Sighing, but not letting it show, Baze grabbed both canteens and went to sit next to him, passing one over and collecting the two staffs between them. “I’ve been here longer.” He countered.  
  
Ϊmwe didn’t miss a beat. “So we will just have to live with mutual respect then, Malbus.” One hand reached over to pat his shoulder as if in consolation. “Ready for another round?”  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
“Ϊmwe, if you do not sit still, you will never learn to meditate properly.” Avane’s voice was no longer indulgently amused when she said this nowadays, and Baze resisted the urge to sneak a peek at her. He had been her student for over a year now, and making good progress with his meditation before Ϊmwe had joined their order and proved impossible to train. She was a patient teacher, and he had sympathy for her when it always seemed Ϊmwe was making no effort to improve.  
  
A few more minutes passed and Baze sank back into his trance quickly, concentrating on the feel of the ebb and flow inside him, the pull from the Force that had been his since before he could remember. But again, he was interrupted.  
  
“You have so much potential, Ϊmwe,” Avane was talking barely above a whisper, and Baze appreciated the sentiment but in an otherwise silent room, it hardly did less to disturb the atmosphere. But she was launching into another one of her standard speeches, and he used the familiarity of it to lull himself back into his trance. Evidently, it worked pretty well because when he came back to himself, almost two hours later, Ϊmwe had been sent from the room and Avane was watching him proudly, then nodded at him in an invitation to speak.  
  
“I felt… It was like I could feel the mine, as if it were a person. The world is getting brighter all the time, it’s easier and easier to feel even when I’m not meditating.” His voice sounded muffled in the dark room. Avane inclined her head carefully, but he could tell she was hiding a smile.  
  
“That’s so promising to hear. Your sensitivity has grown so much in such a short period of time, if you keep going as diligently as you have been… well, I have no doubt you will be sent on your first pilgrimage soon.” She considered him for another second before seeming to shake herself. “Thats enough for today, Malbus. Go get yourself some dinner, bring Ϊmwe too.”  
  
They both stood to roll up their mats in companionable silence, and store them away, but as Avane made to open the door, Baze couldn’t stop himself.  
  
“Why does the Kyber get no brighter no matter how long I meditate?” He felt himself flush as Avane’s eyes flicked straight to him, expression unreadable. They stood, frozen in silence, for a very long moment and Baze opened his mouth to apologise.  
  
“It’s a fair question.” Her eyes fell to the floor. “It has quite a… long answer, and you deserve to hear it one day, but I can hear Ϊmwe outside. Best not to keep him waiting.” She looked back up at Baze, and when she saw he wasn’t moving, her voice hardened. “I will not tell you today, Malbus, so do not ask me to. Trust me to tell you when you are ready to know. Now, have a nice evening.” And with that, she quickly pulled open the door and left. After a long moment, Baze followed.  
  
“What did you do to piss her off?” Ϊmwe was watching Avane’s back as she moved uncharacteristically purposefully away down the corridor. When Baze just shrugged, he grinned and pushed off from the wall, slinging one arm around Baze’s neck as they set off in the direction of the kitchens. “Good job, anyway, she might be more forgiving of my lacking meditation skills if you are annoying her more. Your hair is getting kind of long, Malbus, do you want me to shave it for you tonight?”  
  
Baze reached up to run a hand through what could no longer be called his stubble when it was starting to curl into ringlets, and then he reached over to tousle Ϊmwe’s growing fringe.  
  
“Yeah,” he replied, letting his arm fall to Ϊmwe’s waist as they walked. “Then I’ll do yours.”  
  
“Deal. Now, what should we have for dinner? I am thinking, let me guess, soup! Do you not just love being a monk sometimes?” Ϊmwe kept up his usual steady stream of chatter and somehow, Baze found it just as calming as the meditation.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Baze let the lock click back into place as quietly as he possibly could, eyes adjusting to the dark of his room after the glow of the shower. When the shadowy impressions resolved themselves into vague shapes, he padded softly to the jug and poured himself some water, watching the outline of the figure in the bed rise and fall minutely, in time to the soft sound of breathing in the room. The longer he could put this off the better, but he really did need to sleep. Why did Ïmwe have to come here tonight anyway? Baze hadn't been due back until tomorrow, or technically later today. He finished his last gulp of water and steeled himself. It was his bed, anyway.  
  
"Malbus?" Ïmwe's voice was low with sleep, as Baze slid down between him and the wall.  
  
"Yeah, got back early. Move over," Baze replied quietly. "Give me some blanket. Go back to sleep, Ïmwe." Heavily, Ïmwe lifted up one arm and leg to throw the blankets over Baze too, but made no move from his spot in the center of the mattress. Baze rolled his eyes and tucked in around Ïmwe's wiry frame; another growth spurt had made his bones jut out in odd places and his elbows had a habit of poking Baze's sides when they slept. As soon as Baze had settled into a relatively comfortable position, Ïmwe shuffled around to face him, obviously not as sleepy as he'd acted, eyes colourless in the grey light.  
  
"How was it?"  
  
"Let's not, I'm tired-"  
  
"Not do what? It was just a question. Come on Malbus, I will make it worth your while." A hand started tracing up and down his chest lightly, touch featherlight at his collarbones.  
  
"It's only a few hours until you have to be up for kitchen duty." Baze protested, but under the covers, his own hands started to slip onto Ïmwe's hips, thumb drawing circles on his sides.  
  
"How was the statue, Malbus? What did you see?" Ïmwe was being strategic now, shifting closer with every question, angling himself up to sneak one leg over Baze's hips. Exhaustion melting away in the warmth at the pit of his stomach, Baze pulled him closer, ran a hand up to his shoulder blades and used the other to pull Ïmwe further onto him. Leaning down, Ïmwe whispered, "What did Madhu show you?"  
  
Baze replied just as quietly, eyes falling shut as Ïmwe started to nip little bites onto his neck, below his ear, under his chin. "You know I'm not allowed."  
  
"There is no reason not to tell me, other than Avane wants my jealousy to motivate my meditation practise," Ïmwe reasoned, and Baze almost laughed. A new line of attack in this recurring conversation was unexpected, at least. "You must know jealousy is not a good building block for serenity."  
  
"Then don't be jealous." Baze said simply, and rocked his hips up, jilting Ïmwe forwards to breathe the same air, lips half an inch apart. There really was no point in talking about this again, and sex always distracted Ïmwe more than it did Baze anyway. With that in mind, he pushed his leg up in a deliberate motion that shocked a gasp out of Ïmwe, and maneuvered him into straddling Baze's thigh. Ïmwe was breathing shakily now, little huffs of air being released as he rocked himself backwards and forwards. Just to rub it in, Baze continued smugly, "I won't tell you."  
  
Ïmwe seemed to battle with himself for a second, desire to know what Avane wouldn't show him versus the promise of immediate gratification. Baze took pity.  
  
"There aren't words for it, Ïmwe. I couldn't tell you." At his name, Ïmwe's eyes rolled up slightly, head falling back, and his thighs clenched as Baze pushed up against him, his own arousal becoming harder to ignore. "You wouldn't understand if I tried, Ïmwe, I don't-"  
  
"Chirrut." Ïmwe sounded like the noise choked him and his eyes screwed shut, hips breaking their steady rhythm as he clutched at Baze's shoulders, tight grip betraying the strength his wiry body hid. When Baze's movements stilled in confusion, he opened his eyes again, frustrated, and ground his hips down, reaching for Baze's hand and pulling it to his dick. No one spoke for a few minutes as they rocked together, the room getting lighter by fractions as the summer sun started to rise outside. When the first rays of light hit the wall above their heads, Ïmwe curled in on himself slightly, swearing, as his dick pulsed in Baze's hand and shot cum onto their stomachs. Breathlessly, he smiled as Baze let out an involuntary groan, hips canting upwards still. Grinning now, he leant down and pressed his forehead to Baze's.  
  
"Easy does it, you'll get there," he murmured almost against Baze's lips as he pressed himself back and down to give him the friction he needed. Then, suddenly, using his teeth as much as anything, he kissed Baze, deep and dirty. Baze moaned as he came, and Ïmwe kissed him through his orgasm, kissed him until they were lying boneless, tangled around each other in the too-small bed. Now Baze was sleepy, but he knew there was less than two hours until they needed to be up to make breakfast. He let himself get lost in the slow open-mouthed kisses, giving as good as he got, but neither he nor Ïmwe had the energy to take it much further, even with their teenage libidos. When Ïmwe pulled back by degrees, he pressed kisses instead to the corner of his mouth, his jawline, his cheekbones; something in him wanted this too much to stop.  
  
"Chirrut," Ïmwe's voice was barely above a breath, and Baze felt it against his cheek. "That's my name, Chirrut Ïmwe. Call me Chirrut."  
  
"Chirrut." Baze repeated against his cheek, against his lips, again and again, and he felt Chirrut smiling.  
  
"And yours?"  
  
He hesitated a second, aware he hadn't been referred to by his first name since he left home for the monastery; he wasn't sure that anyone in NiJedha knew it but him.  
  
"Baze." He pressed his name into Chirrut's throat, willing him to understand and to keep it safe. Arms came up to cradle his head.  
  
"Baze." Chirrut's voice came from his chest, hardly vocalised at all in the quiet of the dawn air, but Baze felt it like a tug underneath his ribs, tightening his arms around Chirrut and pulling him closer. "Baze Malbus."  
  
Chirrut Ïmwe.

  
  


***  
  


 

The alleyway was deserted other than the small group of kids, and Baze double checked to see that Dhavyra and Chirrut were still busy haggling with the vendor before surreptitiously unstrapping his staff. Moving quickly but quietly, he kept his eyes down in an attempt to be as unnoticeable as possible, which couldn’t last long, but if he could just get the right angle, if he could get close enough-

 

The child in the center of the circle let out a shout of frustration as Baze knocked over the can with the end his staff. Whirling to see who had slipped past his admittedly impressive senses, the boy’s tiny face was filled with righteous fury which he directed at Baze’s knees for a full second before looking up.

 

“Big brother!” Cried another child, and then Baze knew he had found a fight he couldn’t win when all seven children attempted to climb him at once. Laughing as he fell to his knees, he accepted his fate.

 

“Will you play with us, big brother?” shouted Jun, as she hung off his forearm.

 

“Go in the middle, go in the middle!” Irlla said, bouncing excitedly against his back.

 

“I was winning before you cheated!” Honn had climbed into Baze’s lap and crossed his arms, his bun of fluffy hair starting to tickle Baze’s chin. “You have to play with us now, cheater!”

 

“Cheater, cheater!” all the children took up the chant, delighted with their leverage and giddy to be insulting an adult. Feigning outrage, Baze clambered to his feet, a comically overdone expression on his face.

 

“How dare you talk to your big brother this way!” He smiled as he spoke, turning his head to wink quickly at Amja and Phessar where the others couldn’t see. “I’ll never let you have your can back now!” Pulling his staff off his back again, he swung it in a wide circle, just slow enough that the children had time to run, shrieking, out of his reach, leaving himself in the centre of the alley.

  
  


This was where Chirrut and Dhavyra found him, five minutes later - still in the centre but now with Phessar tucked under his arm from when he had snuck past Baze’s staff and almost kicked the can.

 

“Baze?” Chirrut called, fighting a smile.

 

“Bit busy right now, don’t wanna be distracted.” Baze huffed.

 

“We know,” said Dhavyra, throwing him an orange. Even from this distance, Baze could tell it was full of juice, they had probably only been able to afford it because it was within an hour of going off, and he stepped just a couple feet further to catch it. But as it landed in his hand, he heard the telltale clang of a small foot connecting with an empty can and immediately the children erupted into cheers. Chirrut joined in.

 

“Big brother lost!” Honn teased, as Irlla brandished the can above her head like a trophy.

 

“I did. Well played little sister,” Baze agreed solemnly, with a small bow to Irlla, the turned to shoot a smug grin back over his shoulder. “But only because they cheated.” The look of identical and instantaneous regret on Dhavyra and Chirrut’s faces at the resultant over-excited screams warmed his heart fit to burst.

  
  


That evening, after walking the children back to their orphanage, and Honn back to his parents, Baze and Chirrut bid farewell to Dhavyra at the temple gates and made their way to the kitchen to start unloading their spoils from the market. Madhu and Avane beamed at their offer to make dinner as an apology for their lateness, and so they set themselves to making enough phulka dough to last the week. Chirrut, who was an enthusiastic cook but could burn water, was restricted to kneading while Baze got to work on cooking a dhal from the chickpeas he'd left to soak while they were out.

 

“Why did you not kiss Dhavyra?” They had been working in a companionable silence for a few minutes when Chirrut spoke, and Baze raised his eyebrows at the abruptness of the question. “I thought you said you were engaged?”

 

“We became betrothed when we were very young.” Baze said, matching Chirrut’s matter of fact tone. In actuality, his heart had dropped to his stomach. He had told Chirrut about Dhavyra coming back to Jedha last week, and they had barely touched since; every time Baze had tried, Chirrut had turned away and found some excuse to leave. “We did not kiss because I haven’t seen her since I came to NiJedha, and then she’s been off-planet with her training.”

 

“But you are going to marry her, having not seen her for almost ten years.” Chirrut’s voice was incredulous, and Baze was reminded that although he had been here a long time, Chirrut had not grown up on Jedha. With no prolonged contact with anyone else their age, and neither Avane nor Madhu being native Jedhans either, this one cultural touchstone had obviously passed Chirrut by.

 

“Yes,” Baze agreed, “and I will be lucky to do so. Most people do not even like their betrothed at first, Dhavyra and I have always got on well.”

 

“Do you love her?” Chirrut was looking at his hands as if they were still kneading, but Baze noticed he’d gone curiously still all over.

 

Baze considered the question for a moment. “Yes.”

 

Chirrut nodded carefully, and there was a pressure in Baze’s chest, willing him to say more. It was his turn to look down at his hands now.

 

“But you do not go through life loving only one person. I am betrothed to Dhavyra, I’m not married yet.” He glanced up, searching Chirrut’s face. Slowly, the sound of the dough picked up again.

 

“Hurry up with the dhal,” Chirrut said, and his voice sounded off for a split second before he cleared his throat. “Hurry up, the doughs almost ready, and you never let me do the cooking.”

 

Baze moved closer to inspect it. “No it’s not.”

 

“Not even close?” Chirrut asked, and Baze hid a smile and got back to work. The tense atmosphere cleared up as Chirrut started to describe a new scroll he’d been reading, and as Baze reached round him to grab some turmeric, Chirrut leant back into him, and his body flooded with relief; under his ribs, something settled back into place.

 

  
  
***

  


With a grunt, Baze bucked his hips up, and Chirrut had to shoot both arms forward to slam against the floor next to Baze’s head in order to stay on top. Immediately, Baze grabbed his wrists, made to pull them away, but Chirrut yanked them back and tucked his head down between Baze’s shoulder and neck, ankles hooking into Baze’s thighs. His breath was hot and fast onto Baze’s collarbone, and he could feel Chirrut’s heart beating against his chest. He bridged again, fruitlessly, and again, letting a pattern form before disrupting it and rolling them both so he came up, still clenched between Chirrut’s legs but no longer on his back. Underneath him, Chirrut squirmed; seemingly overnight, he had grown into his body and become covered in tightly defined muscles, usually hidden by his robe and now quivering with energy. But Baze had had years of practise with Chirrut’s attempts to distract him, and he sank his weight down, pressing the blade of his arm down into Chirrut’s thigh and using that leverage to clamber over it. Before he had time to lift his other leg out, Chirrut clasped his legs tight around it, and Baze could no longer just overpower him in this. Then, unexpectedly, Chirrut kicked out and pushed away the leg he had claimed. Knocked off balance, Baze fell heavily onto his arms and immediately he and Chirrut got to grappling with one another, both losing their grip slightly in the slip of sweat, their faces only inches apart and breathing harshly into each others’ mouths. They rose upwards, pressing chest to chest, and the walls and sky fell away, all Baze knew was the places where their bodies touched, like too much spice against his tongue, he did not even exist where they didn’t. From his left shoulder, down his torso to just above his hips, the insides of his biceps to Chirrut’s left shoulder and the right side of his body, the flat of his forearms to Chirrut’s shoulder blades, and now an ankle pressing to his right knee-

 

Baze realised what was happening only a second later, and tried to ground his body, but it was a second too late; Chirrut swept his knee out from underneath him, gripping Baze’s arms and tugging up and over for him to land breathless on his back in the sand.

 

Chirrut looked down at him from his position on one knee, and angled his elbow towards Baze’s heart. Their eyes caught and held for a moment, both panting with exertion, and something else entirely.

 

“Dead,” Chirrut said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for slight ableism from Baze in this chapter , but it's almost entirely restricted to his inner monologue and comes from a place of trauma ~ still , if that's hard for u feel free to ask me for a summary instead ^^

For the fourth time since they sat down in the crowded backstreet bar, Baze's chest felt a tug, a pull in the direction of the desert. He fidgeted slightly as the last of their drinks were drunk.   
  
"Do you ever think this is all pointless?" Chirrut asked darkly, obviously unaware of Baze’s discomfort as he clutched his now empty glass to his chest and glanced around at the other patrons. "I mean, that was the third temple we have lost this year, and we're not exactly rolling in new recruits. And if Madhu doesn't survive his injuries, it'll only be me and you left here. D'you ever think about that?"   
  
"You're drunk." Baze replied shortly and stood, pulling Chirrut to his feet too. Despite Chirrut's best efforts and a recent growth spurt, Baze was still both stronger and taller and very used to using that to his advantage. "Time to go, you're getting the tab."   
  
Chirrut glared at him for a second before pulling his arm out of Baze's grip and walking surprisingly steadily to go pay. Rolling his eyes, Baze went to wait outside, watching the sky for he didn't know what.   
  
  
  
Minutes later, Chirrut finally joined him, walking silently but then ruining the quiet night with a badly suppressed burp. Baze rolled his eyes, more out of a sense of duty after all the years of Chirrut's noise following him around than any real annoyance, and they set off together towards the temple.   
  
"A lovely night for a funeral."   
  
Baze nodded in agreement as Chirrut pressed against his shoulder.   
  
"Nice night for it, right Baze?"   
  
Without looking, Baze gave in to the pressure and slipped his arm up and round Chirrut's shoulders, who managed to make even his walk seem smug. Baze looked up at the sky once again as Chirrut chatted away.   
  
"Very nice night. Bit chilly, though. Jedha has been getting colder this year than ever before, you must have noticed it too. Lovely night, though. No need to hide your smile by looking at the stars, Baze, I've seen you smiling when you think I can't see."   
  
"That would require me to believe in you not seeing everything all the time. I may be a man of faith, but I am not a fool."   
  
"But you've been smiling when you think Dhavyra can't see."   
  
"We're engaged, she's allowed to see me smile."   
  
"Betrothed," Chirrut corrected, and Baze looked down at him to see, maybe for the first time, his face angled such that Baze could not see his expression.   
  
"There's a difference?"   
  
No reply came but the tightening of Chirrut's grip on the back of his robe. Baze couldn't look away. He'd seen Chirrut drunk before, but not like this. And they had had silences before, though few and far between and definitely never like this, heavy and awkward; it wasn't that there was nothing to be said, it was that no one was saying it. Baze opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure. A moment later, he tried again. But Chirrut looked sharply up at him, jerking out of his hold.   
  
No, not at him, past him. To the sky above him and the desert at his back. Baze spun immediately, falling into a fighting stance and wishing he had bought his staff, but then he felt a tug so strong he almost fell over, pulling him towards the desert again. He looked over at Chirrut and they locked gazes with such wonder, no words needed to be spoken. They ran together.   
  
  
  
After scrambling down the steep cliffs and out into the planes, Baze lost track of time in the repetitive surroundings; they could have been running anything from two minutes to half an hour and he wouldn't, or couldn't, look back to check. Ahead and slightly to the left, the mountains seemed to get no closer, on their right the huge statue made no movement to go past them, and absently Base understood how someone could go crazy out in the vast deserts of Jedha, where nothing you did felt like it could ever impact the unchanging landscape. He would have felt unbearably isolated if it weren't for Chirrut keeping perfect pace with him, robes flying in the wind with the speed of their passage. Despite all of this, the more they ran, the calmer he felt. Something deep in his chest knew this was the right thing to do, they were on the right path, something miraculous was going to happen.   
  
They stopped running at the same moment, and came to an abrupt halt in a spot no different to any they had run through since leaving NiJedha. Excitement buoyant in his chest, Baze looked around, scanning the horizon for a clue as to what they were being led for. The Force always moved with purpose, he had studied it for what felt like his whole life, and he knew this was important. As he looked back at Chirrut, he could see the same excitement shining in his eyes, his whole face seemed to be glowing with it. No, Base realised, his face literally was glowing, their whole surroundings were, lit from a source behind Baze and he turned to see -   
  
His entire body rejected this, it was so wrong. The excitement in his chest immediately shattered into a hollow feeling of absolute horror. He’d studied the Force, it was meant to be a power for the good of the universe, to maintain balance, and this was not that, it had not led them here for that. The whole world lit up around him as a meteor streaked through the sky, huge and burningly bright. He squinted against the glare, one hand coming up shield his face, and threw himself into a sprint, they were right in its path, they had to move right now, but he realised Chirrut hadn't moved, was still staring at the light.   
  
“Come on!” He yelled, but could barely hear himself over the roar of the meteor, and the emptiness in his chest seemed to deepen as he realised the sound was nothing like anything he'd ever even read about before.  He kept on shouting as he ran back anyway. “Chirrut, we have to move, Chirrut please!” His voice was cracking with desperation, this felt so wrong. But Chirrut was immovable when he reached him, wouldn't stop staring, and Baze didn't even know what he was shouting now. His whole body was screaming at him to run, to get away from whatever was happening here, but Chirrut wouldn't move, his face still angled towards the fire and eyes going white with the reflection.   
  
We're going to die, Baze thought with sudden clarity. Here is where we die.   
  
And abruptly, the light changed, followed a millisecond later by a huge resounding boom. The shockwave hit Baze’s back with the strength of ten blasters and he was knocked into Chirrut, sending them sprawling in the sand. He couldn't hear anything. When he forced himself to look back at the meteor, it took him a moment to realise what was wrong. The meteor was gone, burned up all its energy he supposed, so what was the big boom? He scanned the empty horizon once, twice, and then realised. The horizon was empty.   
  
“Saret’s statue…” he said, looking back at Chirrut in horror. Or at least, he thought he'd said it. All he could hear was a high ringing in his right ear. But this realisation was secondary to a resounding panic when he saw Chirrut lying in the sand.   
  
His arm looked broken underneath him where Baze had knocked him back, but that was clearly not registering as his face was full of what could only be called rapture. His eyes were still white but Baze now realised it was not the reflection of an asteroid’s brightness and instead the unseeing milkiness of a blind man. As he rolled his head back in the sand, Chirrut’s lips were moving, forming the same words again and again but Baze could not hear. He tried to get up, but he could not move, the ringing in his right ear was getting louder, he could barely even breathe. He tried harder than he'd ever done in his life to focus, to stay conscious, to get to Chirrut, but it was no use. The sand faded away, the stars blinked out, and Baze knew no more.   
  
  
  
The first thing he noticed when he woke was that the ringing was gone. The world lay silent and that would have worried him but that when he woke, he was alone in his room at the temple. Someone had left a jug of water and a chunk of bread on top of the pile of books he called a table, and he rolled over to reach for them -   
  
He recoiled immediately, gasping at the pain; his back felt like it was on fire, his body was seizing up to try and get away from it.   
  
“Malbus? Malbus, you're alright, calm down, can you hear me Malbus?” the voice was unfamiliar, speaking Jedhan instead of Basic, and why hadn't he heard anyone coming in? Baze squeezed his eyes shut, willing the pain to recede and eventually it did, by degrees. Gradually, he became aware of other various injuries his body hadn't been able to acknowledge over the screaming of his back; a tightness on the backs of his shoulders and arms, an imbalance in the sensations on his head, a gaping emptiness in his chest that he quickly ignored. He'd rather focus on the excruciating sting of his back than think about what that emptiness meant, but his mind worked faster than he could stop it. He tried to hold sudden tears back before realising his cheeks were already wet from the pain.   
  
“Here, eat this, it'll help.” Baze opened his eyes and was surprised by how much closer the woman was than her voice had suggested, crouching in front of his bed so she was at eye level to him and holding out a bowl of soup. “With the pain, I mean. I’ll help you.” She raised a spoonful to his lips and he considered not drinking it but gave in to his hunger. If she had wanted to kill him, she would have done it already.   
  
The were a few minutes of near silence while she helped Baze drink the rest of the broth as well as some water, then she handed him the bread to feed himself. As he ate, a soft numbness fell over his body, soothing the various aches and pains and bringing clarity back to his mind. When he looked again, he realised he knew this woman, had bought from her stall at the market where she sold books and poems and scrolls.   
  
“You are Malinn?” He asked, and his voice was hoarse, barely above a scratchy whisper.   
  
“Yes,” she replied. “You've been out of it for three days, before you ask. Mostly unconscious, and very fevered, but your back is healing well. You should be able to walk about in a few days, and Dhavyra says there’ll be no lasting damage, gods allowing.”   
  
“And Ïmwe?”   
  
“All things considered, he is in a much better condition than you, you seem to have taken the full brunt of the explosion. I can call for him if you would like?   
  
Baze shook his head. Just for one day, he could be a coward in this.

 

“Dhavyra asked that she be fetched if you woke up, is that okay?”

 

After a moment’s consideration, Baze nodded. Malinn smiled and took the bowl as she left. When she reached the door, Baze managed to croak out a thank you, and she held a hand to her heart in response. Less than a minute later, the door opened again.

 

“Oh, Baze…” Dhavyra crossed the room to kneel by his head, taking it in her hands and kissing his forehead. “Thank the gods you’re so resilient, a lesser man would not have survived your injuries.”

 

“Thank the gods you are a qualified doctor, if you will thank them for anything, dear one.”

 

Dhavyra looked just short of panic at his words, and felt his forehead for remnants of his fever, though not finding anything seemed to bring her no comfort. “And why should I not thank them for anything?”

 

Baze stayed silent for a second, then gingerly flexed his shoulders. When he found no pain, he spoke. “Will you help me sit up?”

 

Dhavyra saw through his obvious deflection, but only sighed and nodded. “Careful, you won’t be able to sit back, most of the burns are concentrated across your shoulder blades.” She pulled back the sheets, supporting his arm as best she could while he pulled himself upright, wincing at the ache in his muscles after so many days without movement. Getting his legs out from under him and into a position where he could sit upright was dizzyingly agonising, but Baze couldn’t bear lying down any longer.

 

The sparkles of light in his vision cleared after a few seconds of sitting upright, chest heaving from exertion after only the simplest of movements, and to his right, Dhavyra standing, face expectant, as if waiting for his to do something. This expression turned to concern when Baze only looked blankly back at her.

 

“Did you say something?” He asked, after a moment’s awkward silence. Dhavyra frowned, and sat cross legged on the bed in front of him.

 

“Don’t move your head,” she said, positioning it to face her directly. “Follow my finger with your eyes.” She brought it up to just in front of her nose then began moving it slowly, left and right, up and down, then into more complex movements. After a minute, during which Baze’s acceptable performance of her task only served to deepen the worried lines on her forehead, she stopped.

 

“Reach up and touch the tip of your nose.” She instructed, and Baze did. “Touch the tip of my nose.” Again, Baze did, tweaking it slightly and smiling gently. She batted his hand away, but she looked a lot less somber as she did. “Now, repeat back whatever I say. Jedha.”

 

“Jedha.” Baze said.

 

“Chair.” Dhavyra said.

 

“Chair.”

 

“Soup, phulka, beer.”

 

“Soup, phulka, beer.”

 

“Good. Keep looking forward.” Dhavyra got off the bed and came to stand by his left, bending down to whisper directly into his ear. “Ready?” Baze nodded. “Robe.”

 

“Robe.”

 

“Am Kharva.”

 

“Am Kharva.”

 

“Door, jug, scroll.”

 

“Door, jug, scroll.”

 

“Great. Last bit.” She walked the long way round the bed, rather than climbing over and jostling him, then stood at Baze’s right.

 

A moment passed, then another.

 

“I’m ready.” Baze said. Another moment of silence, and he turned to look at Dhavyra. As his head turned, he saw the last part of a word forming on her lips, and a tiny whispered ‘s’ sound was picked up by his left ear. She had a sad smile on her face, and he realised she had expected this when she started. She settled herself once more upon the bed in front of him, and now he was aware of the sounds in the room, and how they only seemed to come from one side; he understood now the imbalance he felt in his head.

 

“Will it ever come back?” Baze took Dhavyra’s hands when she reached for him.

 

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “It could be temporary hearing loss because the explosion was too loud too fast, or it could be that your eardrum has been irreparably damaged. I’m not an audiologist, I can’t tell you outright, but I can’t say that I’m optimistic, looking at how burned your back is. I’m sorry, Baze.”

 

He squeezed her hand, and she leant forward to press their foreheads together. He let her, knowing the depth of sorrow she felt for him and understanding that this would comfort her as much as it would him. His eyes slipped shut as he concentrated on listening to the world around him. Minutes passed.

  
  
  


A sound of the door opening came to Baze, and now he could recognise that it was echoing off the walls to his left ear, instead of being directly intercepted by his right. He looked up to see Chirrut walking in, holding his staff out to feel the ground in front of him, so familiar in the grin he held as a mask whenever he was worried. The thing that caused Baze’s heart to drop was that where his eyes should have been dark and glittering, looking to Baze to watch his reaction to whatever joking insult would no doubt follow, they were a sickly pale blue, pupil-less and unfocused.

 

“Finally slept it off, have you?” He tapped his staff against the tiles as he walked forward until it hit the bed, and without thinking, Baze reached out to help guide him into sitting down. Standing to make space for him, Dhavyra quietly made her way to the door. Baze tried to catch her eye, helplessness pooling in his chest at Chirrut’s unsure movement, but she avoided his gaze, expression unreadable, and left before Chirrut even knew she was there.

 

“You know, you are going to have to talk more now I can’t see your expression. My being blind will be a real hardship for you, I think.” Chirrut reached forward, hands crashing into the side of Baze’s head before repositioning themselves to press over his features, tracing his frown lines, feeling the stubble on his chin. Baze’s own hands came up lightly to touch Chirrut’s elbows, wanting to check him over, make sure he really was not hurt. “You are even more handsome when I cannot see you.” Chirrut said cheerfully. “Oh, a tear. You are not taking my injury well, then. Malinn said all your injuries would heal in time, so you cannot be crying for that.”

 

“I’m deaf in my right ear, Dhavyra doesn’t know if that will ever heal.” Baze winced as soon as he spoke, sickened because this really wasn’t a competition.

 

“I bet you were sorry to hear that,” Chirrut smirked. Baze couldn’t stop watching the way his eyes drifted, never focussing, how his face was never quite facing Baze directly. Chirrut’s hands ran down the back of his neck, grazing the healing burns, and he tried not to flinch; this was how Chirrut saw now. Of course, Chirrut could tell anyway, and his smile became sympathetic. “That must hurt.”

 

“It saved both our lives.” Baze shrugged, and Chirrut’s hands probed across his shoulders, down his arms, grasping Baze’s hands tight where he found them for a few seconds before studying them each separately. It was almost sensual, the way Chirrut’s fingers slipped between each of his own, pressed against his palm, massaged his knuckles, but Baze couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but soul-deep despair. Chirrut’s hands came back up to his face for a few prods before working their way down his chest, slipping under the robe to feel across his stomach and lightly round his sides, stopping whenever they met any kind of bandage of scar tissue. They sat like this for a quarter of an hour, Chirrut’s hands learning Baze’s body, and Baze realised it was probably the longest he’d ever heard Chirrut go without making a sound when they were alone. Every few moments, one of Chirrut’s hands would reach back up to Baze’s face, seemingly drawn to it, and eventually, they both just rested on his cheeks, feeling the minute shifts as he breathed, hitching gasps evening out when his tears ran dry. Chirrut’s expression was still one of benevolent happiness, as it always had been, but Baze could feel him trembling microscopically. Gently, he twisted his head and pressed a kiss to Chirrut’s palm.

  
  
  


“What time is it?” From Chirrut’s voice, this could be any other day they’d shared together in this monastery from the past seven years, any other day where nothing was wrong.

 

“Nearly nightfall, the sun is just touching the horizon,” Baze judged from the golden light hitting the wall. “We would be lighting the lamps soon, but I’ll probably be told to sleep before then.”

 

Chirrut nodded. “You should get as much sleep as you can,” he agreed, but made no move to leave.

 

“You can’t be this okay, Chirrut,” Baze just about whispered, ashamed of how petty he felt. “No one could.”

 

“Being blind is not a curse, nor is your hearing loss, they are merely challenges we must overcome. Life is not a curse in any form, we are not less than we were before.” Chirrut’s face was serene as he spoke, and Baze wanted to throw up. “All is as the Force wills it.”

  
Baze couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but look helplessly at the rapturous belief on Chirrut’s face. He recognised that feeling, had felt it when he woke up after his operation, and when he made his first pilgrimage to Sarret’s statue, and again when he had first had sex; it was the wonder that anything could feel so right and the gratitude that such understanding could be comprehended by a living being. It felt now like a story he had read about in a book. That faith, that was something that happened to other people now, and his chest ached where he knew it had used to happen to him. He reached out in a mirror of Chirrut’s earlier actions and rubbed a thumb across his cheekbone. He said nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think there's gunna be a new chapter of this every half week or so , but dont hold me to that ^^ thanks for reading , pls leave a comment with any concrit or snything u thought !


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for slight ableism again as in last chapter , only internal again and only minor but still
> 
> I’m bullshitting the martial arts terminology here , because i do jiu jitsu which uses japanese terms , and baze and chirrut do what we would call kata ~ google says that in chinese martial arts ie wushu , that’s called taolu ~ if anyone can correct me , please do !

Baze flexed his shoulders experimentally before setting his jaw and lowering himself into the first position for the most basic taolu he knew. He held his wide squat, sturdy as he could, for a few seconds to feel the burn in his thighs from disuse before moving as smoothly as he could into the second position, where he double checked his posture and held again, then onto the third. Repeating this process, he worked his way slowly through the first five taolu; his muscles really starting protesting towards the end of the fourth one, but he pushed himself onwards, knowing that just a month ago he could have done all twenty already in the time he had taken today. He was trying to convince his body to start the sixth pattern, limbs feeling like lead, when he realised he wasn’t alone.

 

“Your form is still very impressive, despite the break.” Madhu’s voice was more of a wheeze than anything, and he kept his arms folded inside his robes as he smiled at Baze from the archway.

 

“Master.” Baze bowed as he grabbed a stool and folded it out for Madhu to sink wearily into.

 

“Am I really so old? You are no longer a trainee, Baze, and I think we’ve known each other long enough.”

 

“Yes, big broth- Madhu,” Baze corrected himself, abashed, and Madhu smiled as he always did at the Jedhan honorific slipping into Baze’s Basic. Baze sat down next to him on the step, reaching behind himself to pour them each a cup of water, but as he passed one over to Madhu, he found himself thinking _yes, you are_. For as long as he could remember, Madhu’s hair had been salt and pepper stubble on his head, but now his hairline was past the limits of receding and he was simply going bald. His eyes too, always so lively, had been dulled by the constant illness of the last few months, and now instead of sitting with the natural grace he had carried since Baze met him, he was slumped inwards, as if huddling against some nonexistent coldness.

 

They sat in silence for a minute, and eventually the burn in Baze’s limbs dulled to a soft ache.

  
  


“Your back is fully healed?” Madhu asked quietly, eyes opening once more.

 

Baze nodded. “I can start exercising again, but I’ve got to start slow. No sparring for at least another month.”

 

“May I see…?” Madhu gestured vaguely, and Baze nodded again before shifting to kneel in front of Madhu so he could reach without stretching too much. Lightly but firmly, Baze felt him probe the scar tissue across Baze’s shoulders, prodding and poking with a pressure just shy of what would hurt.

 

“It’s very impressive,” Madhu said, almost to himself. “A testament to Dhavyra that you healed from it at all. The discolouration will fade with time too. I am sorry you have to endure this, Baze.” He punctuated his last statement with a pat on Baze’s upper arm, and something like guilt curled in his stomach as he stood, retrieving his robe from where he’d shed it mid-pattern before sitting again.

 

“It’s not me who got-” he started, and was then interrupted by the now familiar tapping of a staff from the other side of the courtyard. Through the opposite archway, Chirrut appeared, the innocence on his face doing nothing to fool Baze.

 

“It’s all attitude,” Madhu said conversationally, and then called a little louder, “Chirrut, sixth taolu please.”

 

“Of course,” Chirrut grinned easily, and propped his staff up against the wall before moving into the centre of the sand. He was in the first position seemingly before he even stopped walking, and there was a moment of perfect stillness before he began. His arm arced up gracefully as he stepped back into the second position, and then swept round to his waist, never quite still as he flowed from position to position, his whole body as fluid as a river, and Baze couldn’t look away. He couldn’t help thinking of his own stunted patterns earlier, a clumsy toddler by comparison. The shame in his gut intensified.

 

Madhu made a satisfied noise as Chirrut finished the pattern, holding his last form perfectly. He looked down at Baze. “Now, together. Coupled taolu, the first three. If you’re feeling up to it.” Chirrut practically bounced out of his stance, shaking out his limbs as Baze got up heavily and went to stand in front of him.

 

“Ready?” He asked, and Baze could tell that under the smile it was a real question; he could say no, and Chirrut would not begrudge him that. Baze nodded, and they breathed together for a second more before moving at the same moment to grab each other’s forearms, stances widening so that they mirrored each other in their squats. As they moved through the positions, Chirrut went much more slowly than he had just been, smiling encouragingly as Baze corrected his own posture and adjusted to the stretch across his shoulders, but he was no less graceful.

  
  


They were nearly done with the second pattern when Baze’s calf seized up, sending him stumbling away, only pulling Chirrut off-balance the tiniest amount. He hissed as he braced himself against the wall, only avoiding fully falling over by the smallest margin.

 

“Baze? Are you alright?” Madhu asked, voice reserved but not concerned. Chirrut started towards him, following the sound of his embarrassingly laboured breathing no doubt.

 

“Fine.” Baze said through gritted teeth, and hobbled quickly towards the arch nearest.

 

“Let me help me back to your room,” Chirrut reached out to feel for him and he flinched away.

 

“I’m fine, finish your patterns.” Baze heard his frustration leaking into his voice, but couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it when it stopped Chirrut in his tracks.

 

“Well then,” his smile picked up unconvincingly, and he started moving back towards his staff, “let me bring you some lunch, there’s some koki from the market, and-”

 

“Not hungry. See you later.” Baze interrupted, and forced his limbs to cooperate, all but fleeing the courtyard to limp to his room and collapse onto his bed, tears stinging his eyes.

 

 _Pathetic_ , he berated himself, pressing his good ear into the sheets to muffle the sounds of Madhu and Chirrut talking quietly. He really didn’t want to hear whatever they were saying about him.

  
  


***

  
  


Baze contemplated the pile of robes, still folded on his chair from when they had been washed and dried two days ago, and tried to convince himself to get dressed. Instead, his traitorous body kept clinging to the two sheets he had wrapped around his shoulders and made no attempt to get off the bed.

 

 _Get up_ , he tried to make his thoughts threatening. _Stop lying around, it’s all attitude, just get up_.

 

Didn’t matter either way, he supposed. Madhu wasn’t going to come check on him anymore, Dhavyra was working a double shift, and Chirrut was doing one of his new long meditation sessions. He wasn’t hungry, so what would he be getting out of bed for? He resigned himself to watching the shadows inch their way across his wall, and ignored his rumbling stomach.

  
  


***

  
  


“Baze!”

 

He pretended not to hear the voice calling him as he marched up the path back to the city, hitching his backpack up on his shoulders. Chirrut was coming from his right, so he could claim deafness.

 

“Hey! Wait, Baze!” Chirrut smacked his staff against a rock loudly as he hurried up to the path, and Baze lost his plausible deniability, so he stopped and turned. Chirrut still had a pouch of chicken feed hung across his body, and a little of it tipped out in his haste to catch up. Once he drew level, he beamed a smile that, had Baze known him a little less well, might even be convincing. “Welcome back!”

 

“Thanks,” Baze said shortly. “I got some stuff from the market so dinner’s gonna be in half an hour.” He turned to leave but Chirrut wasn't deterred by his perfunctory response.

 

“Did your aunts manage to get word to Madhu’s family? It has been so long, I should go myself.”

 

Obviously, Chirrut wasn't going to skirt around the issue, and Baze grunted an affirmative.

 

“How are they? I would have liked to see them. Quite literally, I mean, we have not been since I became blind and I never spent much time rubbing their faces before.” Chirrut's voice was light but Baze still felt the underlying hurt; he'd gone with Baze to his aunts’ village every few months since they were 17.

 

“They are well,” and Baze hesitated before continuing, “they send you their love. Finish with the chickens, I’ll go start dinner.”

 

He made it a step up the path before Chirrut called out again. “Wait!”

 

When Baze turned back, Chirrut was a lot closer and for a horrifying moment, Baze thought he was going to have to duck away from a hug somehow: he couldn't bear the thought of touching Chirrut when he knew the shame he felt would be written in every line of his body. Instead, Chirrut was reaching into his pouch and then pulled out three large eggs.

 

“These are what we have got so far, if that will help with dinner.” As Baze silently took them, Chirrut gripped his hand for a second and then let go. “I will see you in a bit!” He called over his shoulder as he walked back to the chicken coops.

 

“Still not a funny joke,” Baze said, a knee jerk reflex. He watched Chirrut's back for a second more, then turned himself and continued up to the monastery.

  
  


***

  
  


There was a crash from the hallway. Baze was startled from his thoughts to see Chirrut stumble into view, grabbing the doorframe to catch himself.

 

“So, my staff snapped.” He said conversationally, grinning at the wall to Baze’s right.

 

“How?” Baze almost wanted Chirrut not to answer.

 

“I was walking down to the mines, and-”

 

“I told you not to go there without someone to guide you,” Baze couldn’t help but let his frustration bleed into his voice. “If you fell, no one would know where you had gone.”

 

“But you don’t like going there, and who else is there to ask? I can’t take Malinn there, we both swore oaths.”

 

“I don’t know why you insist on going anyway, it’s empty.” Baze muttered under his breath, getting up to grab his own staff from the corner and press it into Chirrut’s free hand.

 

“Unless you have emptied it, I remember seeing it full not three months ago.” Chirrut said benignly, reaching out for Baze’s face, and he had forgotten how much better Chirrut’s hearing was now.

 

“That’s not what I meant.” Baze glowered at him, stepping back out of reach, and Chirrut’s hand clutched at empty air for a second before lowering to his side.

 

“Then explain.” His voice was still light and calm and that, more than anything, infuriated Baze until he could not hold it in anymore.

 

“What are we even guarding anymore, Chirrut? So many of the temples are destroyed, the mines are running dry, all the other guardians are dead,” Baze felt his voice crack, but he couldn’t stop talking. “Madhu and Avane are dead. And the kyber crystals, they’re empty, you know that’s why this godsforsaken moon is fading away, it’s over. We have to move on.”

 

“I do not know that, and we do not have to move on. You should have told me you were having such thoughts, we could have talked them through together.”

 

“You mean I would sit and listen as you preached about the majesty of the Force, with which you credit every single thing in the world, including your own problems.” Baze sneered, and there was a pause, during which Chirrut almost looked shocked. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

 

“You have already made your mind up, haven’t you.” Chirrut’s voice hardened; it was not a question, so Baze did not respond. “You used to credit the force with the very body you have. It is a disappointment that you would throw away your life’s work after one little snag.”

 

Baze gaped, momentarily speechless. “One little- that was not a snag, Chirrut! That was proof, the Force does not exist, or if it does, it doesn’t care about us. Why would it destroy a statue of Sarret if it understood anything about us?”

 

“But you felt it! You told me, you felt it in your chest, you know the Force is real, Baze, you felt it! ” Chirrut was gesturing widely, but one hand still gripped the door frame to give him his bearings, and it was all Baze could see. He bit his lip, hesitating before he spoke.

 

“I understand now that what I felt was not the Force, and anyway,” Baze pushed roughly past him, knocking his staff from the crook of Chirrut’s elbow, “that feeling’s gone now.”

 

“You are leaving because you are scared you do not understand the Force! Welcome, Malbus, to my life so far!” Chirrut hissed, grabbing onto his lapels as he passed and spitting out Baze’s surname as if it were poisonous. For the first time in his life, Chirrut’s fury was directed at him.

 

“And you are staying because you think this finally proves that you’re special, the only one who knows the truth,” Baze bellowed, pulling out of Chirrut’s grip and stepping out of reach. “I am leaving to get married and have a family, and to live my life, because that’s is all there fucking is, Chirrut. This is all there is, and you’re going to waste it worshipping some imaginary god. What do you think is going to happen when the funding dries up anyway? We’re a mythology now, not a religion, haven’t you heard?” Bitter anger clouded Chirrut’s expression and he grabbed the staff from where it lay between them, swinging it in clumsy arcs which Baze easily sidestepped.

 

“Go, then! You are unworthy of the mission you swore to carry out, you spineless excuse for a guardian, and you are unworthy of these halls!” Chirrut’s breathing was ragged as he shouted, angry tears welling in his silvery eyes, but Baze couldn’t feel sorry for that yet; he clenched his jaw as Chirrut continued to shoot off insults and held himself perfectly still, blood boiling, sure that if he let himself move at all he would do much more than just defend himself. Silently, he walked away down the corridor, past his room where all his belongings were actually owned by the monastery, and towards the main entrance.

 

“Coward!” Chirrut’s voice echoed off the stone walls to him, terrible with anger, and it took every ounce of hard-won self-discipline Baze had to ignore it, following his muscle memory until he was out of the temple and walking to the spaceport. He watched his feet the whole time.

  
  


***

  
  


“It’s a beautiful view,” Dhavyra said, slipping under his arm to tuck against his side. Baze nodded mutely, pulling her close as they both looked out over the glittering lights of Denon. Their apartment was tiny, on the fourth floor, and all they could afford on Dhavyra’s tiny savings from working in NiJedha’s hospital, but Baze was grateful for the plastic walls and the blue light from the planet-wide city outside. All in all, it was a far cry from the golden sun and vast deserts he’d lived in his whole life until now. They watched the air taxis drift past above their window in the rush hour traffic for a long while, dazed from the long day of travel.

  
  


Eventually, Dhavyra gave him a squeeze and stretched up to kiss his cheek. “I’ll work out how to order takeout,” she smiled, pulling away from him to go rifle through the leaflets left by the estate agent, “but only for tonight. When I’m at my interview tomorrow, you have to go food shopping. Make a list tonight of any cooking equipment you need and we can order it to arrive in the morning.” She chucked him a data pad.

 

“What’s my budget?” He asked, as he settled onto the sofa.

 

“Believe me, once I get this job, we will not have to worry about that,” Dhavyra stopped studying the brightly coloured menu to smile over at him. “Being a trained surgeon on a planet this densely populated pays pretty damn well. Any credit we owe, I can pay off tenfold by next month. You won’t even have to work, you can just be a good housewife for me to come home to. How does Corellian sound? We’ve earned comfort food, I think.”

 

Baze just raised an eyebrow at her.

 

“Right, yeah. Well, first time for everything,” she smiled sheepishly. “Trust me, you’ll like it. I ate it all the time at med school.”

  
  


That night, full of drippingly greasy but admittedly delicious food, eyes heavy with the complimentary beer, Baze lay back in the new bed; it was odd, not squishy enough, and the blankets too thin by half, but he knew he’d get used to it with time. Next to him, Dhavyra settled in, and he rolled onto his side to study her face. She looked back at him.

 

“We’re gonna be okay.” Baze said firmly, and she stretched forward, kissing him fiercely.

 

“That’s the spirit,” she whispered. He pulled her close, and they tucked into each other, his head fitting under her chin, her shins pressed to his thighs, his arms circling her waist. In daylight, her skin was a shade darker than his and a lot cooler in tone, but in the blue light they matched perfectly, both desaturated. She was so small in his arms, he often forgot how short she was, but never slim or fragile; he had seen her hoist a ten kilo bag of rice without breaking a sweat, and this was the woman who shouted down senior staff so often that she had been promoted to head surgeon at only 23 years old. But she was soft now, close to sleep though he knew she would not because Baze himself had never felt less like sleeping. He couldn’t help but hold himself tensely against the great pressure he felt, like something trying to burst out between the seams of his skin. She pulled back to lay face-to-face with him again, searching his expression.

 

“What’s the matter, huh?” She murmured.

 

Baze could no longer hold back from falling into the void between his ribs. He rolled, turning his face away and squeezing his eyes shut, as huge fat tears started to roll down his cheeks.

 

“Baze, what’s wrong?” Dhavyra’s voice was unbearable in its sympathy.

 

“Please do not ask me,” he managed to choke out, the pressure under his skin building as the emptiness he felt yawned wider and deeper; he could feel every muscle in his body pulling tight, he felt ready to snap. Dhavyra sat up and gently put a hand on his head; Baze threw an arm up to stifle a huge sob, and then he was crying so hard he felt light headed, throat becoming raw with it. Her fingers traced patterns across his scalp and neck, but he barely registered them as his whole body shook with the force of his grief. He allowed himself five minutes before he tried to reign in the sobs, scrubbing the tears from his cheeks, face burning.

 

“Don’t be ashamed of your tears,” Dhavyra said softly, hands never stilling. “The crows cannot fly away if you lock up the arena.”

  
He hadn’t heard that idiom since he was a child, his aunties reprimanding him for bottling up his anger at the world. It felt now like he could break the cage doors right off and still nothing could escape the pull of the black hole where his faith had been; helpless to stop it, he cried for that. Where he had felt connected to this monastery, to Avane and Madhu, to the whole planet beneath his feet and all the stars overhead, there was now a gaping absence, and he cried for his loss, and though he dreaded to think of it, he knew, deep in his gut, that Chirrut would never understand this, that even if he returned to Jedha, they could never go back to how they were. For himself, he cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is gunna bring a bit of a change , I'm hoping it's not too much of a risk , pls stick with me ! Thanks for reading so far , all comments and kudos are super appreciated , I'd love feedback ^^


	4. Chapter 4

Chirrut had been almost asleep, when something jolted him awake, and he allowed himself a moment of internal frustration as he took his bearings; any sleep at all was a blessing these days, the only time spent not aching from the emptiness that was the pit of his stomach. A few feet from him, small voices exchanged worried words, which would not be an unusual occurrence here, except that they were speaking in Basic.

 

“Are you lost, little ones?” He cocked his head to the side, facing the whispered argument that was waging furiously. There was a long pause.

 

“No …” One of the children answered with a distinctly off-world accent, a city accent, but not Coruscanti; interesting, given the falling numbers of tourists.

 

“Are you sure? I know my way around this city, I could help you,” he smiled, relaxing his shoulders.

 

Another whispered argument, then the voice he would guess at being the younger one came closer. “You’re not going to hurt us.”

 

It was a statement, not a question or a threat, which was odd, but Chirrut kept smiling. “No, I’m not,” he agreed.  “ Where are you trying to go?”

 

“The barge stop, we need to get back to Am Kharva, to our auntie’s house.” This younger child did not have the tell-tale tremor of chill in their voice, and the way their voice resonated suggested a distinctly non-human bone structure. Combine that with the strangely certain preceding statement, and Chirrut surmised he was dealing with one Iktochi child and one human, neither above the age of ten.

 

“Am Kharva, I know it well, yes.” Maybe he could visit Charina and T’Suru while he was there, he hadn’t been up for almost a fortnight. “Do you know your auntie’s name?”

 

“Yes…” The human child answered, reluctant in a distinctly Jedhan way to call their aunt by name, an aunt who, in light of this, might not even be their actual relative. So an off-world accent and yet an adherence to Jedhan custom; the plot thickens, he thought dramatically.

 

“I have friends in Am Kharva, I can show you the way there. Do you have barge passes?”

 

“Yes.” Both children chorused, and Chirrut breathed a sigh of relief. Buying two extra passes would have meant scraping together more money than he knew how to find.

 

“And names?”

 

“I’m Sareun, this is Lalimana, we’re sisters.” The human said the last part with a practised air, evidently pre-empting a question they got a lot.

 

“Well then girls, you can call me big brother.” Chirrut picked up his staff and stood, holding out his free hand. “It seems we have a barge to catch.”

  
  
  


When they arrived in Am Kharva, Chirrut felt another jolt, like the one which had woken him earlier, and he pulled Lalimana back towards him from where she had been about to hop off the barge port onto the road.

 

A second passed, and nothing.

 

“Big brother?” Sareun reached up to touch his elbow. “The road is safe.”

 

“Of course, better safe than sorry,” Chirrut smiled, and relinquished his grip, but as they crossed the road, his adrenaline did not dissipate. “Will you let me walk with you to your auntie’s house? I would like to make sure you get there safe.”

 

As the girls walked him through familiar streets, something like panic settled in the base of his throat. Two and two were starting to add up in his head, but there was no way they could ever equal more than three, was there? Nonetheless, they made one last turn, the floor turned from compacted sand to a stone path, and the familiar smell of this garden had never made him so afraid. There was the sound of Sareun struggling with keys that were unfamiliar to her, but Chirrut had an exact copy of in his pocket, and he couldn’t quite breathe.

 

“Girls, I’m just going to-” he took half a step back, but he was still to close when the door opened, and that homely smell of warm bread and spices wafted out stronger than usual. His voice died in his throat, cut off by the tension that had been building since they got off the barge. He couldn’t turn back now, and maybe if he really steeled himself, he wouldn’t.

 

“You’re awake!” Sareun shouted in what Chirrut now recognised as a Denon accent, and both girls barreled through the threshold. Chirrut willed his hands to stop shaking as he followed, but they ignored him. There was a pot bubbling on the stove and the scrape of a chair as someone fell to their knees, a sharp intake of breath from T’Suru and a thud as Lalimana dropped her backpack, the sound of kisses being pressed to foreheads and cheeks, but Chirrut could have heard a pindrop. His senses were at two hundred percent, he didn’t need to hear a voice to know he was right.

 

“Welcome back, Baze.” His voice could have been coming from a different person, it was so unrecognisable in that moment. Chirrut had never felt less calm in his life, but his voice continued, even and measured, none of his internal hysteria evident. “Long time, no see.”

 

He could feel the utter disbelief radiating off Charina, and there was a shocked chuckle from T’Suru, but he was too out of practise with Baze to tell what response he’d gotten there, too unfamiliar, and wasn’t that just salt in his wounds.

 

“I told everyone you would be okay, I saw it, I knew you would be, I told them we didn't need to worry.” Lalimana’s voice was bursting with suppressed emotions, so achingly resemblant of her dad that Chirrut felt twenty years younger and a foot shorter.

 

“Of course you're right,” Baze’s voice still rumbled from his chest, but it was deeper now, he was evidently a lot bigger now, and the part of Chirrut that had always worried about his recovery once he’d left Jedha was settled; that was the voice of a man who ate frequently, and ate well, with posture unhindered by shoulders hunched in pain. “I’m okay,” he unknowingly answered Chirrut’s thoughts, and how long had he longed for this moment, how many times had he dreamt of hearing news of Baze, how many different ways had he imagined Baze’s life taking shape? “We’re gonna be okay.” The world was spinning, and Chirrut gripped the door frame for support. This couldn’t be happening, and yet, it was.

 

He was brought back to his body as Charina gripped his elbow, her hands still warm from pouring tea. “Don’t ask about Dhavyra,” she hissed, short and urgent in his ear. His hand came up to grip hers, and she squeezed back, real as anything.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


“Aunties, let me in, I have news!” Chirrut half ran up the path and was calling out before he had even knocked, knowing that even he allowed himself even a second of hesitation, he wouldn’t go through with it. The door opened almost immediately and T’Suru’s hand found his as he entered, then Charina’s from across the table; both tight squeezes, probably wondering if he was okay, getting here so late.  _ Maybe the jury is still out on that one _ , Chirrut thought darkly. “An apartment is going in my building, I booked you a viewing for tomorrow!”

 

There was a moment of hesitation that was just a second too long to be comfortable.

 

“Tomorrow? How much is it?” Baze’s voice was as open a book as it ever had been, but he was trying not to let the shock show through, Chirrut noted.

 

“It’s three bedrooms, so it won’t be as cheap as mine, but we can haggle it down and it’s near the school.”  _ And close to me _ , Chirrut didn’t add.

 

“Thank you,” Baze said, still reserved, but he didn’t sound unconvinced.

 

“It would be good for the girls, I suppose they are in bed now?” Chirrut asked politely, knowing that the aunties would see through him but hoping against hope that Baze wouldn’t.

 

“Just gone to sleep,” Charina replied, and sure enough her voice betrayed her. He hoped she wouldn’t begrudge him this for too long. It made sense that Baze was her top priority right now, but Chirrut couldn’t stand it any longer.

 

“I have not been able to see them much, do they look like Dhavyra or you?” He asked, just to continue the conversation, but as he spoke Dhavyra’s name, he found his heart aching almost as much as when he’d first heard about the virus on Denon.

 

“Sareun looks like Dhavyra, and Lim isn’t biologically ours, so she doesn’t.” Baze was too tired, or too familiar, to sound sad, and Chirrut took a moment to send up a small silent prayer, for both the dead and those left behind.

 

“She rubs her eyes the way you did when you were young though,” When T’Suru spoke, it was quiet, directed at Baze, the same hurt in her voice that Chirrut had just turned into prayer. “I think Sareun looks more like you, though she has Dhavyra’s hair.”

 

“And Dhavyra’s height, but Lim’s going to hit the Malbus six foot and then some, mark my words. Maybe even the full six four, unlike our puny Baze here” Charina joined in T’Suru’s efforts to cheer up their nephew, but Chirrut’s internal clock pinged and his adrenaline spiked.

 

When he spoke, it was louder than usual and met with a shocked silence. “Auntie, I seem to have misjudged the timing and missed the last hover barge back to NiJedha, can I stay here tonight?” He could feel Charina glaring at him, but held his innocent facade.

 

“Of course, love,” replied T’Suru slowly, trying for breezy normalcy and missing by a mile, “but you’ll have to sleep on the floor, I’m afraid.”

 

“That is more than acceptable, thank you, I’ll make breakfast in the morning as thanks.” Chirrut said firmly, playing obtuse to all the hints the aunties were sending him.

 

“No you won’t,” Charina said quickly. “We like our house and don’t want it set on fire, but thank you for the offer.”

 

“I’ll do the dishes, then,” Chirrut amended, not backing down.

 

“That would be lovely, then.” Charina was firm, but he could hear anger suppressed by disbelief in her voice. “Baze, would you help me get down the spare bedding?” The air shifted through the room as they left.

 

“So, how’s the money situation going?” T’Suru asked, louder than she needed to. “How are you doing on rent? I know they’re lowering your benefits by the day.”

 

“Oh, I am fine,” Chirrut scoffed, one ear trained on the whispers in the hallway, but the thick walls were muffling the sound. Then he actually thought about the question. “Well, I am covered for this month, no worries auntie.”

 

“And the next month? And food?”

 

“I will work it out,” Chirrut shoved down the dread in his stomach at the prospect, and ignored the second part of what T’Suru had said. A hand cupped the back of his neck.

 

“You will ask if you need anything, yes?” T’Suru pressed down slightly, and Chirrut was reminded of the desert cats carrying their kittens by the scruff of their necks.

 

“Of course, auntie,” he lied, and she knew, but he was saved by the proverbial bell; Baze and Charina returned, and however concerned T’Suru was, he knew she wouldn’t expose him in front of Baze.

 

“T’Suru and I have work tomorrow, so we’ll be out early in the morning,” Charina directed her voice away from him, towards where Baze must be. “Maybe you should take the girls with you to see the apartment, let them see NiJedha properly.” There was the sound of fabric on fabric as the aunties hugged Baze, the press of lips to cheek, and Chirrut looked away despite himself; he had known he was intruding when he started.

 

“Goodnight, Baze. Chirrut, sleep well,” Charina patted his elbow as she passed.

 

“Goodnight aunties,” he smiled as he lifted his head once more.

 

“Sweet dreams,” Baze said, so softly that anyone else might not have heard from this distance. The the room was silent, save for the rearranging of cushions and blankets to form a bed on the floor, and one on the sofa. After brushing his teeth in the kitchen sink with the spare toothbrush he’d long since left at this house, he stripped down and lay in bed, waiting for Baze to stop moving about. The familiarity of the rough carpet and the smell of cardamom soothed his nerves considerably, and the adrenaline that had been fueling him left his system as he controlled his breathing. He would wait for Baze to speak now.

  
  


“So how did young Lim become part of your family?” Chirrut asked, less than a minute later, remembering that waiting for Baze to start a conversation was like waiting for a mouse to roar.

 

Baze coughed nervously, and Chirrut’s heart ached that he could cause such a feeling. “We adopted her when she was about 3 months old, it was my idea. Kind of. It was mostly a surprise.” Baze spoke quickly, switching between familiar and formal tenses uncomfortably. “Her full name’s Lalimana.”

 

“That is pretty. Too many syllables for a child though, I agree.” Chirrut replied, sticking with the familiar, maybe as an aspirational gesture. However, there was no reply forthcoming, and Chirrut decided to give it up as a bad job, a stupid plan, when-

 

“Your Jedhan is much better now.” Baze said, firmly in the familiar tense, a kind of restrained eagerness that betrayed his act of not wanting to say much, and Chirrut could have died of relief.

 

“You were right, practise does make perfect, and after you- I mean, err…” Chirrut started talking before he thought, and sure enough, had ended up referencing the one thing they just shouldn’t talk about. He tried to save face. “Well, I've had a lot of practise now.” He failed, and the room was still for a very long moment.

 

Baze made a sound that could either be an attempt at his name, or else he was choking. Chirrut waited for more, but was met only with silence.

 

“Can I see you?” His voice sounded desperate, and with anyone else, he would have been ashamed, but there was a thud as Baze fell to his knees in front of him. A hand found his wrist, not as big as he remembered, more calloused, and brought his hands up to Baze’s face, dripping with tears that had fallen silently, and those, more than anything, comforted Chirrut. They were not as strangers after all.

 

He explored: a mostly-healed cut ran across Baze’s cheekbone, but it had been deep, and Chirrut shuddered to think of who had been allowed close enough to do that, or why; Baze’s chin was scratchy with the beginnings of a beard, which Chirrut would estimate as a lack of self-care rather than a conscious effort, when paired with the chapped lips; his nose had been broken and reset properly, had lost the charming bump, but had kept growing. There was familiar lines, the scar under his eyebrow, the crows feet, and new ones, deep across his forehead, a jagged scar under the short curls on the crown of his head.

 

“Still no hearing?” He murmured as he checked the size and angle of Baze’s ears, and found them still endearing. Baze’s head shook left then right, ever so slightly, and Chirrut nodded. He continued tracing down Baze’s neck, satisfied with the lack of scars there, and before he realised, his fingers bumped into Baze’s collarbones. He froze, knowing that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to help himself.

 

“Keep going.”  _ Of course this would be when Baze chose to cooperate _ , Chirrut thought resignedly.  _ When I’m being tortured _ . Mouth dry, he explored Baze’s broad shoulders, arms, chest, finding them muscular, finding fewer injuries than he had feared, but more than he would have liked. But Baze was strong, neither underfed nor neglected, and before he could stop himself, he squeezed Baze’s bicep. His throat became the desert outside, and he hoped he wasn’t blushing too much as he moved round to sit at Baze’s back, feeling the scar tissue across his shoulders, expansive and sobering, stretching almost halfway down his spine. There had been talk of Baze making a full recovery, and judging from his movements, he had, but even a light shirt must have been agony for such a long time. He traced the edges of the hardened skin where it met Baze’s natural softness, and he felt selfish.

 

“Up,” Chirrut commanded, pushing aside his guilt, for it was no good regretting now, and Baze pulled himself back onto the sofa, sitting facing him. Chirrut felt the soft layer of fat over the dense muscles of his stomach and thighs, the strong sturdiness of his shins and the not inconsiderable amount of hair growing on them. He checked every inch of skin, and again, and again, and read upon Baze's body the story of a man who had seen some trouble in recent years, but was in good health, and took care of himself. The skin-and-bones Baze who had lived in Chirrut's mind for so long was replaced by a Baze much more easily recognised by those who had known him before the statue fell. This was the man Baze had always been destined to be, and Chirrut didn't know why that thought made him feel so numb.

 

His hands stilled, and Baze returned to sit on the floor opposite him. Their knees brushed, both cross-legged, and Chirrut returned the favour, the detached numbness solidifying somewhere beneath his lungs as he described all the injuries that had left a mark on him since Baze had left Jedha, guiding Baze’s hands to feel each of them. It took less time than perhaps it should have, and then the room was silent. Chirrut's hand fell down to rest upon an old blaster scar.

 

“Is that all?” Baze asked rhetorically, and Chirrut coughed out a laugh that turned into a sob midway; his fingers splayed across his hip bone, and all he could think about was Baze learning to take care of himself while Chirrut had tried his best to turn something to live for into something to die for. He tensed up as thick arms encircled him, the warmth and smell of Baze permeating his personal space as they were pulled together. It was slightly awkward, their legs caught between them, stopping the hug from truly connecting, but Chirrut was almost grateful. After so many years, a real hug could have snapped his spine.  _ I don't deserve this _ , Chirrut thought, and hugged back as tight as his weak, damaged arms would allow. It felt like sacrilege, to kill off so much of himself, and still be held as if he were whole, or even tangible anymore, as if he'd done a single thing in ten years that wasn't just selfish, as if he were understood and understandable. He couldn't even tell if Baze was crying too, and wasn't that just a metaphor for the ages.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


“I thought losing one of your senses was meant to make things harder, not easier.” Baze grumbled as he pulled himself upright, bare shins against the dust-and-sand floor. Chirrut was breathing heavily from the exertion, having not fought anyone as skilled as Baze in years, but he would collapse before he let it show.

 

“The visible world is merely a distraction,” Chirrut said ominously, sweeping his arms wide like he did for the tourists when he really needed the money. “The mind is focussed by the absence of expectation. Are you ready to go for best of seven?”

 

“No.” Baze grunted, but Chirrut could hear him shifting into his fighting stance anyway.

 

“Your aunties said you were a bouncer for some club back on Denon, that should have kept you in practise,” Chirrut teased, doing his best to project relaxed neutrality.

 

“I was.” Baze would not, apparently, be satisfying his curiosity today, then. Chirrut sighed internally.

 

“Well then, you have no excuse.” He gestured with two fingers.  _ Come hither, if you dare _ . The scuff of Baze’s shoes gave him away as he stepped to Chirrut’s right, and Chirrut tracked his movement with an outstretched staff, about to call out Baze’s rookie mistake when a puff of air blew against his neck. If he hadn’t been so intent upon winning, Chirrut wouldn’t have hid his grin at the trick as he swung round to deliver a solid wack to Baze’s side, or rather, tried to, as Baze stepped closer than Chirrut had thought he would dare. A familiar arm around his waist, a gentle grip on his wrist, and ten years ago this would have sent Chirrut flying; instead, he counterbalanced and twisted through the air, flicking his robes out around him as he landed, and now he couldn’t keep his grin back. Clever fighting was just so much more fun.

 

Baze pressed forward quickly, sending blow after blow Chirrut’s way, but where Baze had turned his technique into a blunt instrument - and he didn’t want to think about why that was - Chirrut had honed his fighting skill, and he deflected them easily. Too easily, in fact, no headway was being made, so why was Baze-

 

Chirrut almost tripped on a loose paving slab, and he berated himself for not having remembered that particular hazard. He jumped instinctively , and felt the telltale swish of his robes as Baze swung a leg where he had just been. If Baze thought opportunity was on his side, Chirrut flicked out his staff just to prove him wrong. It connected with a satisfying whack, and Chirrut twisted to land on top of him, snatching a hold-down position.  _ Checkmate _ , he thought smugly, and tried not to pant too much.

 

“It is almost time for the school to be getting out, do you want to call it quits for today?” Chirrut asked as soon as he could speak without gasping. A second passed. “I can feel it when you glare at me, by the way.”

 

“Good,” Baze said darkly, and tapped a hand against Chirrut’s shoulder. Chirrut jumped up and reached out a hand to pull him to his feet. Baze didn’t let go immediately.

 

“I can feel when you smile too,” Chirrut commented, and then Baze let go. He could almost hear the frown.

 

“I don’t smile at you.” Baze said, both unconvinced and unconvincing, and changed the subject. “You use your staff better now.”

 

“Yes, it’s easy once you know how.” Chirrut let him, smiling to himself.

 

“And that staff is better balanced than the one you made,” Baze said conversationally, but there was a note of smugness to his voice that gave him away. “It’s why I was always better at it than you.” In honesty, Chirrut had forgotten that this staff was not his originally, and he now wondered at himself for doing so; Baze had been with him the whole time, in a manner of speaking. If the staff had not been there to hold him up now, he might have collapsed because Chirrut felt more like a real person in that moment than he had done in years, and yet so disconnected from the boy who had lived his life in the temple that he might as well be a stranger to himself. But maybe for the first time ever, he felt that that could be remedied, and he tugged his robes back on to join Baze to walk back to their building.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


The lock clicked, and the sound of footsteps was slow, deliberately quiet but heavy and unsure. “The children are in bed.” Chirrut spoke at a normal volume, thankful that the kids were heavy sleepers. “They asked where you were. I do not like lying to children.”

 

“What did you tell them?” Baze asked, slurring his words slightly.

 

“I said you were looking for work,” Chirrut said icily, “but I can tell from the baijiu on your breath that I was wrong.”

 

Baze huffed a humourless laugh. “Could’a been looking for work at the bar.” Chirrut followed him into the kitchen and pulled a glass from the cupboard to hand to him.

 

“Water,” he instructed, frustration bleeding into his voice, so he recentered himself as the tap ran, and when he spoke again, it was emotionless once more. “Does this kind of thing happen often?”

 

“What thing?” Baze asked, deliberately difficult, taking a big gulp of water.

 

“Drinking as if you were a teenager discovering alcohol for the first time.”

 

“Yes.” Baze was petulant, and Chirrut could scream.

 

“I see,” he said, his body as tense. “And what do the girls think?”

 

“Dunno.” The kitchen was too small, they had been standing still and close for too long, and all Chirrut could smell was alcohol.

 

“And you do not care?” Chirrut asked scathingly, to predictably, no response. He tried again. “Your body is not as young as it once was, why weaken yourself further?”

 

“Weaken myself?!” And finally, there was the anger Chirrut had been waiting for. “I am already weak, Chirrut, you don’t know- you can’t- this is not weakness!” 

 

Chirrut could have laughed. “Then what is it, if not a vice you do not want to admit to? Why do you intoxicate yourself if not to forget about your situation?”

 

“Don’t project your problems onto me,” Baze spat, and Chirrut couldn’t help but flinch.

 

“I’m sorry Jedha cannot provide you with a more satisfactory life, after all you’ve been trying for almost a year.” Chirrut heard himself say, a small part of him watching horrified as the rest of him lashed out. “Maybe it is time you gave up, right?” His anger span him and carried him back to the front door of the apartment, and he struggled with his shoes, fingers shaking, cursing them, desperate to just leave. Then Baze started to speak.

 

“There was this club a couple blocks over from our building in Denon, that’s where I worked as a bouncer. Lots of rich patrons, but not rich in a good way, so they were happy to pay well to make sure the club only admitted a certain kind of clientele. The owner, Kir Wan, let me take off as much time as I needed, with pay, after Dhavyra died.” Chirrut’s anger rose even as his hands stilled; he had been waiting for this conversation for so long, and Baze had decided to start it drunk? “I was only doing three nights work a week for the whole year after and he still paid enough to send Lim and Sareun to school. But then he started calling in the favours I owed him. It started small, just go with someone to act as their bodyguard, then intimidate some street dealer who was using the club to attract the wrong kind of clients, then rescue some kidnapped councillors daughter, then dig up some blackmail. It took maybe another half a year to work up to assassinations.” There was a thud as Baze tried to sit next to Chirrut and lost his balance somewhere on the way down. Chirrut twisted towards him, willing his hands to stop reaching towards the sadness in Baze’s voice, reminding himself that he had legitimate reasons to be angry, failing at both endeavors. He had suspected something like this, but still couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it. “Soon after that, I was only doing that kind of work, wasn’t picking up any shifts at the door, but it paid well and Kir Wan made sure I only got clients that were legit. I became kind of a big deal, even the councillors were sending their best jobs to me, but Kir Wan made sure I knew I always owed him. I was going off planet more and more, leaving the girls with this friend Dhavyra had had at the hospital who had avoided the epidemic.” Baze’s hands found Chirrut’s and they were shaking as they lifted to his face. The tears he found there melted the last of Chirrut’s anger and washed away his disbelief. “I refused a job, it was more than just taking out rival dealers or puppet heads of companies, but they didn’t like me walking away when I knew who they were targeting.”

 

“Who was it?” Chirrut whispered by accident, not wanting to interrupt, but knowing that the answer to this was the answer to if Baze was forgivable.

 

“It was on Coruscant, the senator of Naboo, She’s done some good things for the Republic.” Baze answered just as quietly, voice layered with shame. “Chirrut, Kir Wan came to Sareun’s school, he picked her up from school. I got home from the shops and he had cooked dinner, he made Dhavyra’s favourite. He was helping Lim with her homework.” Baze was gasping slightly now, tears falling thick and fast, so Chirrut just held his face still, anchoring him, and they took three big breaths together, an old habit they hadn’t even thought to forget.

 

“He had no right to invade your life like that.” Baze’s hands came up to cup Chirrut’s face as he spoke. “Where is Kir Wan now?”

 

“Dead,” Baze replied, hollow, not even any relief, and that settled Chirrut more than anything.

 

“And did you…?” Under his hands, Baze nodded.

 

“I've killed a lot of people, Chirrut.” Baze confessed with the same voice he’d left the temple with, and Chirrut couldn’t bear it. He pressed their foreheads together, wishing he could pull Baze’s pain and guilt from him with purely the force of his compassion, but he took a shaky breath and kept speaking with that same voice. “There’s a job going on Bespin, I’d be gone for a few days, maybe a week. I can leave the girls in Am Kharva but they’d have to commute an hour to school.”

 

“And by job you mean…?” Chirrut asked, and the lack of a reply was answer enough by itself. “Whose life will you take?”

 

“I can’t tell you, it’s not safe for you to know, but it’s someone I’ve been on the periphery of for a long time. The job pays well, I wouldn’t have to work again for a few months.” Baze’s hands dropped to grip Chirrut’s forearms and unconsciously Chirrut mirrored him. He opened his mouth before he knew what he was going to say, but Baze forestalled him. “Please don’t, I’ve made my choice.”

 

Chirrut felt Baze’s grip loosen, and he let him go. “What do I tell the girls?”

 

“They know about my job, I have always been open with them.” Baze’s voice had returned to its usual authority, and for once Chirrut had no idea how he was supposed to feel. “I’m not leaving until tomorrow anyway.”

 

“I will take care of them,” Chirrut said in answer to the question Baze hadn’t asked. There was an intake of air as Baze began to speak but Chirrut couldn’t bear it. He jumped to his feet, shoes still only have done up. “Goodnight, then.”

 

“You’re leaving?” Baze also pulled himself upright, confused.

 

“You need sleep if you are leaving tomorrow.” Chirrut impressed himself with how even and measured his voice was.  “I will come over in the morning.”

 

“You could, I mean-” Baze cut himself off, and they both knew what he had been going to say. “Thank you, Chirrut.”

 

“Of course, sleep well.” Chirrut was out the door before he had really finished speaking, and was out of the building before any thought could really form.

 

Baze had been an assassin. Baze was currently an assassin. He had murdered people and would do again, for no reason other than money.

 

He couldn’t think past the barrier in his head, he couldn’t get a word in edgeways around the static in his ears, the echoes and echoes of what he had just learned.

 

_ You’ve killed people too _ , was the first thought to escape, and wasn’t that just typical. Because he could protest all he liked, could talk about self-defence and the preservation of culture and the importance of fighting imperialism until he was blue in the face, but that was the simple fact of it. He could still feel the dull thud of skull within helmet and recall perfectly the clatter of plastic armour around a body that was collapsing.

 

You have both killed, you are both murderers. This is the legacy of that temple.

  
He couldn’t collapse here, he knew, or he’d be found in the street in the morning and be taken back to Baze’s and be made to answer questions about why he hadn’t returned to the apartment Baze didn’t know he no longer had. He couldn’t, in good conscience, wake Malinn at this hour and ask to sleep on her sofa, and he couldn’t go to the shelter when it had been shut down a month ago. That left no choice but to sleep at the only public space left unlocked during the night, and he tried not to consider poetic irony as he made his way towards the graveyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the switch in p.o.v isn't too jarring , I wanted to explore both characters feelings throughout this fic , and picking a significant point as the time to change makes most sense to me ^^ as I said , I'd love any concrit or feedback or comments , they really help more than words can say


	5. Chapter 5

The thing was, Jedha was not built for the cold. When he’d been young, the stone-and-sand walls had been shade against unrelenting sunlight, the floors built to stay cool even in the height of the dry season. Even the dry season was artificial, created by the synthetic rain sent by the core worlds as aid each year, around the time of Coruscant’s winter solstice. The ground under their feet revolved around NaJedha, but it had been centuries since their world had.

 

But the rain had stopped at around the same time the temple had closed; not enough tourists so not enough publicity so not enough donations, and then the empire had started to mine the kyber and the light had stopped warming him, and now the only water on the planet was locked up in the southern ice fields. Huge dust storms were a regular occurrence, and the airy buildings, built to amplify the breeze on hot days, caught the sand like bugs in a net. Most mornings, Chirrut woke up half buried in dirt, no matter how far into doorways and corridors he huddled. The next week Baze was on a job, after seeing the girls to school, he stood in the erratic spray of water until it cut out completely. He checked every shutter, inch by inch, twice a day, and swept as best he could, trying to save Baze the scratching of dust against his skin when he got back. It had only been half a year since Chirrut had started couchsurfing and sleeping rough, but he couldn’t remember what it had felt like to live like this. He almost dreaded the click of the lock that signified Baze returning, and therefore Chirrut’s cue to leave, but only almost.

  
  
  


“Chirrut?” His name was called gently, the hand on his shoulder tentative, but Chirrut was a light sleeper, so he woke anyway. There was a dip on the mattress as someone settled on the edge of it.

 

“Lim?” Chirrut guessed, groggy.

 

“Not back from school yet.”

 

“Baze.” Chirrut immediately became alert, and he sat up. “Are you alright?”

 

“Yeah, I’m back now,” Baze replied, and the bed bounced a little as he slumped backwards, head coming to rest lightly against Chirrut’s knee. He reached forward for Baze’s face and found a little grime, a tired smile, and no evident injuries, and the tremors in his chest eased a little.

 

“Good job?”

 

“I didn’t get injured.”

 

Chirrut kept checking what little skin he could find, nonetheless, until Baze’s hands came up to catch his, holding them still. Chirrut slumped forward over his crossed legs until his forehead was against Baze’s.

 

When Baze spoke, it came to Chirrut less as sound and more as vibrations passed through the places where they touched. “How was parents evening?”

 

“Good,” Chirrut replied equally softly. “Sareun’s teacher recommended she try and find a poetry apprenticeship over the break, and she seems pretty keen, so I think Malinn is a good person to ask about that.”

 

Chirrut felt Baze nod. “And Lim?”

 

“She’s having some troubles still, with the other children. She asked to be moved up to join Sareun in the higher group, but no luck,” Chirrut said. “I don’t think her teacher likes her much.”

 

“Mr Namte?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Nerf herder.”

 

“Yes.” Chirrut smiled. Under his hands, Baze was breathing deeper and steadier, and Chirrut started to pull away, but his grip tightened.

 

“Stay,” he whispered, and Chirrut could have shattered into a million pieces because he knew Baze wasn’t just talking about him leaving the room. His head fell back down but he cradled it in his own elbow, couldn’t bear, in that moment, to touch him, but Baze wouldn’t let his hands go. “The girls need another parent, I can’t do this alone.”

 

“I am not just a replacement for Dhavyra,” Chirrut said, hollow, even as his ears echoed with Sareun’s voice, introducing him as baba to her teacher. “I couldn’t be, even if I tried.”

 

“You’re not, that’s not what I mean, Chirrut, I need you here too,” Baze’s voice was desperate, sounded like the hot tears threatening to overspill Chirrut’s eyes felt. “There’s so much dirt under your nails, Chirrut, please.”

 

“But you left me…” Chirrut’s voice broke and he knew he’d never forgive himself for bringing that up now.

 

Baze was crying too, shoulders shaking, and his voice was laboured with exhaustion and shame. “I know.”

 

They had both drawn back now, holding themselves so tense that they were both hurting, and Chirrut realised that he couldn’t carry the weight anymore. He grabbed Baze’s shoulders and lifted, using strength he hadn’t had for months to pull him close, and pressed their foreheads together once more.

 

“Never again,” he said.

 

“Never again,” Baze said, and Chirrut kissed him. Their lips were salty with tears and it stung them, but they didn't care.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


“Fancy that, he returns,” grunted the door guard, voice muffled by a helmet and several scarfs. Chirrut didn’t react, didn’t dare to in a place like this, and the leadership really must have gone to shit if they had thought it wise to meet here. He climbed the long staircase and followed the sound of murmurs until they were louder and closer than the market just outside.

 

When he stepped into the room, the murmurs stopped, and the only sound was the rhythmical in-out-in-out of the air compressor in the middle of the room.

 

“Didn’t think you’d actually turn up, Ïmwe.” It was a nasal voice to break the silence, and Chirrut did his best not to sneer when he replied.

 

“Hello, Harshall, yes. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

 

“Fat lot of good he’ll do,” someone whispered, not expecting him to hear.

 

“Kantur, so nice to hear you again,” he smiled, demure and lying through his teeth.

 

“Chirrut Ïmwe…”

 

The rattle of old machinery was interrupted for the first time, momentarily, as Saw spoke, and Chirrut bowed his head a little. They may disagree on many things, but he was now the sole leader of the rebellion on Jedha, and respect went a long way here. “Good evening.”

 

The room erupted into mutters again, obscuring whatever Saw was saying to his confidants. Chirrut waited, smile fixed, head held high once more. Eventually the voices died down.

 

“All those in favour?” Saw said to the room at large. Chirrut tried to judge, from the rustle of sleeves, a consensus, but the was hard when he didn’t know how many people were actually in the room. “... and those against?” A similar-sounding amount of fabric brushed against itself as arms were raised.

 

There was a long pause. “So?” Chirrut asked cheerfully.

 

“He’s a glorified fucking tourist attraction,” someone said, an unfamiliar voice.

 

“What d’you know, idiot?” Chirrut recognised Yaru’s voice replying, and smiled in their direction. “You never saw him before.”

 

“In the markets, fortune telling,” Kantur said. “Fat lot of good, probably hasn’t fought in years.”

 

“I saw him steal water from some troopers last week,” piped up a new voice, young sounding. There was another long pause when nobody replied.

 

Metal clanked against metal as Saw sat forward. “Can you sweeten the pot, Ïmwe?” Chirrut frowned slightly, confused, and Saw clarified. “Anything you can bring to the table that you couldn’t have last time? Tell us why you should be allowed back. You abandoned the cause once before, what will stop you from doing so again?”

 

“If you want Baze Malbus to work for you, he offers excellent rates,” Chirrut said bluntly. “I will not volunteer his life for him though. What I can bring to the cause is the same as what I bought this time ten years ago, when I set up this group. Short of acute starvation, there is very little that could make me abandon this cause. I will fight the empire whether I am with you or not, the only question is will you let me coordinate with you or will I have to do it all myself?” A few little grumbles set out around the room, but Yaru coughed loudly and they dispelled.

 

“You must commit everything, Ïmwe,” Saw continued as if Chirrut hadn’t spoken. “You cannot hold out on us, for any reason. My sources say you have children now, a family, would you be willing to give that up for the cause?”

 

Chirrut would have laughed if it wasn’t so demoralising; he was leading the rebellion, and still Saw didn’t understand what they were fighting for. “Would I be willing to give up the cause in order to serve the cause? What you ask makes no sense.”

 

“There is no sense in war,” Saw said cryptically, and Chirrut had forgotten his fondness of sweeping aphorisms.

 

“Is it really a war if one side takes whatever they want, and the other has an interview process for anyone that might want to even just help out?” He was starting to get annoyed now. “Anyway, I should get back. It is my turn to cook dinner for the cause tonight.” There was a stifled snort of laughter from someone, and he grinned widely as he left, not showing any of the anger he felt. This world was going to die, and it was going to be Saw Gerrera’s fault.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


Chirrut leant against the doorframe, a little tipsy, as Malinn thanked Baze. “You really outdid yourself tonight, the food was totally delicious.”

 

“You must bring your new boyfriend next time,” Chirrut interjected, reaching out.

 

“Who, Shan?” Malinn slipped her hand into his, and he bought it to his lips. “I dumped him.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” Chirrut smirked, “never settle for less than you deserve, Malinn.”

 

Malinn grabbed his other hand as well and squeezed. “Nor you, little brother,” she said emphatically, reminding Chirrut of how many months she had now been asking when he was going to make an honest man of Baze. She let go and spoke to Baze once more, voice light and cheerful once again. “As I said, I’ll have Sareun’s letter of recommendation done in the next couple of days, so remind her not to stress.”

 

“Of course,” Baze replied. “Take care of yourself.” Malinn’s footsteps retreated down the corridor, and Chirrut went back into the apartment, trying to ignore the little mental tugs that had been pulling him towards Baze all night. He put them up to Malinn’s influence, and found the volume on Baze’s datapad to turn up the music and drown out memories of the same small compulsions which had caused him to gravitate around Baze in the temple.

 

He started to sing along under his breath, bopping a little bit to the music, and doing the dishes in time as Baze cleared the table and then dried and cleared the draining board. Baze was being oddly silent, but then so was Chirrut, he reflected, and decided that they had both had quite a lot of wine and good food. When the pile of cutlery and plates next to him had been diminished, he stole Baze’s teatowel and dried his hands, then used it as a prop while he danced his way back into the living room. He had been looking for a laugh, but nothing was forthcoming, and he fell still as the playlist ended. There was the telltale sound of leather stretching near the door.

 

“Where are you going?” Chirrut asked.

 

Baze’s voice was heavy with something Chirrut couldn’t place. “Will you come with me?”

 

“Of course,” he replied quickly, “but will the girls be okay on their own?”

 

“It won’t take long,” Baze said quietly, and Chirrut sat to pull on his own boots. When he stood, Baze helped him into his outer robe, and his arms were warm and strong as they wrapped around his hips. Chirrut grinned and squirmed a little, then wiggled his eyebrows in what he was sure was an alluring and highly attractive manner, but Baze either didn’t notice or didn’t care to react. Chirrut started to get nervous, and slipped his staff under his arm.

 

As they walked through the quiet streets, the wind was harsh against Chirrut’s back, pushing him forwards with the force of its gusts, but the longer they walked, the less Chirrut wanted to keep going. He slipped an arm into Baze’s, and tapped his staff against the floor, double and triple checking that they really were walking the road he thought they were. But why, after all this time, would they be going now?

 

Finally they stopped, and dread had made a home in Chirrut’s gut, settling uncomfortably and making his voice shake as he reached out to touch the unforgiving metal gate. “They’re locked, they get locked at sundown by the guards.” Gently, Baze’s arm unwound from his, and he was left with only a grip on the cold bars, shaking with memories of the last day he had been inside the temple, caught in a strange state between hyper-awareness and sensory deprivation.

 

There was a small cracking sound, muffled by a cough, and the gate swung a little, pulling towards Chirrut with the intensity of his grip.

 

“Don’t give me that face, I know it always got you hot when I disobeyed Avane,” Baze said, close to his ear, breath hot against his neck. “How is this any different?” Baze’s hand came up to join his at the gate and they pushed together, fingers interlocking as the metal fell away, and together they stepped over the threshold.

 

The smell almost overwhelmed Chirrut as they walked through the still familiar corridors, almost homely in the way it triggered his sensory memory, but just dusty enough, just still enough, to remind him of how long this place had been standing empty. It still had the strange paths worn into the floor from the couple of years the empire had run it as a tourist attraction, and Chirrut’s staff sometimes snagged on empty food packets that hadn’t been cleared when the temple had been declared unsafe and locked up for good. With the smell and the anger, Chirrut could have been half a dozen years younger and still furious with the strength of his Guardian’s body, unhampered by the struggles of the years since. But Baze was here, their hands held tight in a way that had been unthinkable during their first lives together, and Chirrut surrendered himself to whatever purpose Baze had brought him here for.

 

He was led through the corridors and up several floors, to the spiral staircase which they climbed all the way to the top, the steps again unfamiliar in their erosion by thousands of tourist feet. The reached the top room and Baze took Chirrut’s staff, using it to open the trapdoor they’d been so fond of as curious children and then later horny teenagers. Without thinking about it, Chirrut released Baze’s hand and felt for his shoulder as he knelt. Jumping up with the extra support, he easily pulled himself up into the sandy room above the ceiling, which had been open to the elements for a decade. The room was smaller than he remembered, or he was bigger, and he banged his head on the roof as he stood, took a moment to make sure Baze hadn’t noticed, and then reached down to clasp his forearm and pull him up too. 

 

“What are we doing here?” Chirrut asked, totally nonplussed.

 

“Come here,” Baze said, once more not replying, and Chirrut followed his touch to the edge of the room. The cold air played against his face from the open windows, and it reacted as Baze held something out between them. Chirrut lifted his hands to feel a thread of metal, a necklace warmed by Baze’s body, and a heavy pendant, shaped vaguely like a figure eight, also metal and also warm.

 

It took him a second, but when he worked it out, it was like the floor in his heart dropped out. “It’s been five years?” He could barely muster a whisper around the emotion in his throat.

 

“As close as I can work out, with the time differences,” Baze replied, and his voice gave away no hint that he was doing anything more significant than discussing inconsequential jewellery. Between them, the wedding rings swung, held in balance by the way they were welded into each other.

 

“Oh, Dhavyra…” Chirrut breathed. In this building, where they had laughed together so many times, had had awkward standoffs over Baze’s affections, where she had helped nurse him back to health after he had lost his sight, he felt her loss more rawly than he had ever allowed himself to.

 

“Will you…?” Baze’s voice cut off, and it was that, more than anything, which comforted Chirrut. They would get through this together, he promised himself, and he undid the necklace, pulling the interwoven rings off it and pressing them into Baze’s palm, before reattaching the necklace around his neck. His cheek brushed up against Baze’s as he sat back, and they were both trembling.

 

“Are you ready to do this?”

 

“No,” Baze said raggedly, but Chirrut heard his fingers close tight around the rings anyway.

 

“Wait,” Chirrut said desperately, and he leaned forward to kiss the back of Baze’s hand, whispering the shortest prayer he could bear to utter, knowing that Baze would never ask for this but unable to stop himself from trying. “May your Force live on in others, Dhavyra Torque.” As he sat back up, a tear dropped down onto Baze’s hand.

 

“I miss you, my love,” Baze said after a moment, talking as though Dhavyra were sitting a mere foot from them, as vibrant as the day she had knocked Baze over in the market. “Sareun and Lim are doing well, I am raising them as best as I can. Sareun is so clever, you know this but this year she has shown it even more. Lim is having trouble with her visions, they are distressing her more because of the way they make her different from the other children here, but I am trying my best to help her through.” His voice warmed as he talked about his children, and Chirrut could have screamed at the injustice of it all, but then Baze floored him. “Chirrut is still the best support anyone could ask for, I can finally see why you liked him so much,” Baze smiled audibly, and his voice was watery when he continued. “I never much understood it myself, but now I see and I know you would roll your eyes at how long it has taken me. My aunties are well, your father is still healthy, your mother’s grave is kept clean and Lim replaced the flowers yesterday.” As he spoke, Baze’s left hand found Chirrut’s, and Chirrut gripped back just as tight with both of his own. The last of what Baze said came out like a prayer, and felt just as holy as anything before uttered in this building.  “I wish so much had been different, but I don’t regret a second of knowing you, I am so lucky to have known you, my love. The strength of my body for the rest of my life, this should all have been yours, my love. You were so brave, and I will always live to follow your example, Dhavyra, my love.”

 

Baze’s body tensed, and there was a slight whistle of air as he threw the rings far out of the window, flying into the desert to join the rings of all of Jedha’s broken marriages. When he’d first learnt about this tradition, Chirrut had pictured his parents’ rings falling into the sand, and now he imagined Baze and Dhavyra’s rings coming to rest next to them, a tiny monument. He promised himself that his and Baze’s rings would never join them.

 

“She would be proud of you, of all you’ve done,” Chirrut said, hollow. “You were lucky to know each other.”

 

Clumsily, without preamble, Baze’s lips found his, and they kissed quietly, the air around them heavy with an aimless sorrow. Chirrut was unused to such helplessness, had never had a cause he couldn’t fight for. In the face of being an orphan, he had created his own family; in the face of losing that family, he had fought tooth and nail for his home; in the face of that home being taken from him, he had become devoted to the people. But this? Chirrut’s hands came to cup Baze’s elbows and he vowed to never let this happen to them, because that was all he could do.

  
  
  


***

 

Chirrut’s eyes slid open as the door was pushed open, and despite himself, he couldn’t stop annoyance from rising. “Lalimana, you know not to interrupt me during meditation-”

 

“It’s dad,” she interrupted, and that above all told Chirrut it was an emergency. “He collapsed, he’s not responding.”

 

Chirrut was standing, across the room before he knew it. “Is he moving at all? How long?”

 

“No, he’s just lying there, it only just happened,” Lim sounded close to tears, and they rushed to the dining table together, where she knelt, and Chirrut found Baze’s legs, deathly still. “Will he be okay, baba?”

 

“Of course, sweetheart, this happened a few times when we were young,” Chirrut placated, praying that he was right. “He will wake up in just a few moments.”

 

“Why did it happen?” Sareun asked as she got a grip of Chirrut’s sleeve, and then tugged on it as Baze shifted, evidently returning to consciousness.

 

“Give him some room,” he said as both he and the girls edged closer, unable to stop himself. “How are you feeling, Baze? Do you want help sitting up?”

 

“I’ll just lie here a minute more,” Baze’s voice sounded wrong, off, hollow. “Actually, could you help me…?” He trailed off but his hand reached for Chirrut’s, and the thought of Baze reduced to asking for help walking scared him to death..

 

“Of course,” he said, voice giving off a calm he did not feel, “girls, could you get your dad a glass of water?” He hooked one arm under Baze’s knees and the other round his shoulders and lifted him as gingerly as possible, carrying him to their room.

 

As soon as they were out of earshot of the girls, his voice spilled forth almost without permission, a million miles a minute. “What is it? What happened? You can not deny that the Force caused this,” his throat constricted for a second, cutting him off before he choked out, “I knew you still felt it.”

 

“Something’s gone wrong, Chirrut,” Baze said, shocked pain underlying his words. He didn’t even bother protesting. “It’s so wrong. It’s the jedi,” and his voice dropped to a whisper as though unable to properly accept what it was saying, “I think they’re dying.”

  
Chirrut lay Baze down on the bed as gently as he could, his own head reeling now. “Why?” When no answer came, he found Baze’s hand. “We will be okay,” he said, trying not to let his voice waver because he knew that was really not the point. Baze’s fingers trembled between his. They were in for a rough night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is gunna be a shorter one , only one section really ~ thank u to everyone who's read so far and any and all comments are always so so appreciated !


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this final chapter , I'd like to dedicate this work to [csiribee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/csiribee/pseuds/csiribee) , without whose wonderful comments , I never would have finished ! Thank u a thousand times !

In the midday light, Chirrut could almost feel it on his skin, a lukewarm mockery of the sun he’d grown up under; the heat he was feeling now was from fuel fumes and the swirling crowds. Even on the little curb they’d found to wait on, they were being jostled. Any second now though, Chirrut told himself, and sure enough - “Baba! Dad! Over here!” He waved towards Lim’s shout for a few seconds until the noise of the crowd parted slightly and then she was in front of them, pulling them both down slightly into a hug.

 

“Welcome back, so good to see you again,” Chirrut smiled, and he could practically hear her eyes roll even as Baze snickered through a kiss pressed to her cheek.

 

“Gross, dad,” she complained, pulling back. The distinct teenager-ness of that filled Chirrut’s heart fit to burst. “I’ve only been gone like two weeks.”

 

“Far too long, I’m never letting you out my sight again,” Baze grinned, only half teasing. Lim grabbed Chirrut’s arm as he stepped off his curb, and clung close as they wormed their way out of the spaceport.

 

“So, what is Sareun’s room like?” He asked as soon as they stepped out onto the comparatively silent roads of Jedha.

 

“It’s okay, bit too small for her and her roommate really. The university is lovely though,” Lim said, and her voice swelled with excitement. “It’s right next to the Jedi archives. Alderaan is so much bigger in person than the holos make it look. Different to how I remember Denon, cleaner.”

 

“One day your dad will take me,” Chirrut said with false earnestness, “I can’t wait to see it.”

 

“Get your official papers and I’d gladly take you,” Baze grunted, with false annoyance.

 

Chirrut grinned brightly. “What is her roommate like?”

 

Lim’s words started to run into each other with the strength of her enthusiasm. “He’s an Iktotchi, he’s super lovely. He let me tag along to the Iktotchi soc meetup a few days ago, it was amazing. I mean Sareun told me about it before I went, and she said she was the only human at most meetings, but she really was the only human! I’ve never even seen another Iktotchi in real life. They were talking about this rebel network being organised, I-” She was interrupted by a loud cough from Baze, and Chirrut was grateful; he could barely breath over the knot of terror in his throat at the idea of Lim in a rebellion.

 

“Maybe tell us when we get back home,” he said airily, hoping it would pass off as casual cheer rather than abject terror. Hope was a powerful thing, after all.

 

“Of course, baba, sorry, dad,” she apologised sheepishly, and clung to Chirrut’s arm as she spoke even quieter. “I thought we could maybe visit grandma and the aunties on the way home?”

 

“Sure, little one,. Baze’s voice was warm, unable to stay sharp with Lim, and Chirrut patted her hand for similar reasons.

 

“Thanks,” she said, and returned to normal volume. “I forgot to say, I bought some cake from Sareun’s favourite bakery for dessert.”

 

“More dessert is the last thing your dad needs,” Chirrut said as a knee-jerk reaction, and Lim gave a dramatic gasp in much the same vein.

 

“I thought you were pretty appreciative of my body,” Baze said, but with too much confidence for it to be anything but a ploy. “Or at least-” Sure enough, Lim let go of Chirrut’s arm to cover her ears, retching slightly. It was an old joke, but it was a good one.

 

“There is no joy quite like tormenting one’s children,” Chirrut said, once they were done laughing and Lim was done running ahead, and his voice was golden with joy even to his own ears.

 

“Let’s give her some space,” Baze murmured, and he wrapped his arm around Chirrut’s shoulder as they came to a stop just outside the graveyard gate. Around them, the city continued on its noisy way, but it was almost drowned out, for Chirrut, by the whirring of Baze’s brain.

 

“You think she is going to leave as soon as she can,” Chirrut guessed, and Baze lent his head against Chirrut’s temple so he could feel him nod. Not sure if he was doing it for Baze’s sake or his own, he lent against Baze’s side. “I think so too,” he admitted, and a little sadness wormed its way into his heart despite himself. “Jedha is too homogenous.”

 

“We’re really in for it with the empty nest syndrome,” Baze said, voice slightly thick.

 

“Is that not the goal for any parent? It is the best case scenario,” Chirrut said, not knowing if he was talking to Baze or convincing himself. “I’m glad you get that.”

  
“We get that,” Baze corrected, and together they went to pay their respects to the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That'll do it folks ! Thanks to everyone who's read along or read since it was completed ~ like I said , this is my longest project yet and my first properly chaptered work , so feedback means so much to me ! I'd love love love any and all comments ^^ thanks !


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